


The King's Concubine

by Preach



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Concubine Erik, Cousin Incest, Drama, King T'Challa - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preach/pseuds/Preach
Summary: Erik fidgeted nervously as he looked at the long line ahead of him. He really hadn't expected so many others to show up for the concubine selection process.Fuck. How could he catch T'Challa's eye among all these people?





	1. Chapter 1

Erik fidgeted nervously as he looked at the long line ahead of him. He really hadn't expected so many others to show up for the concubine selection process. 

Fuck. How could he catch T'Challa's eye among all these people?

Erik scowled at the rest of his competition as he absentmindedly patted his father's ring and letter, hidden deep in his pocket. This was a self-soothing habit that he had somehow picked up in his youth and which had followed him throughout his life. The feeling of the cool vibranium band brushing against his fingertips, and the knowledge that he was one step closer towards his life's goal of clearing his father's name helped to tamp down the worst of his panic.

Ten years ago, Erik's mother had revealed on her deathbed that Erik was actually the son of N'Jobu, a prince from a secret African country called... Wakanda? Erik hadn't been able to believe it at first - at ten years old, he was just a little bit too old to still believe in fairy tales.

But Erik had no choice but to accept the truth when his mother had given him two objects from his late father - a ring made of an unbreakable, magical metal, and an old letter in N'Jobu's own handwriting that explained why he had had no choice but to leave his girlfriend and toddler son behind to return to Wakanda.

Reading the letter had broken Erik's heart. The love that N'Jobu had for Erik and his mother clearly shone through in every word. However, N'Jobu explained that he had no option but to return to Wakanda on his older brother, King T'Chaka's orders. Even for a prince like him, the commands of his king could not be disobeyed. In his letter, N'Jobu had expressed his bewilderment that his brother wanted to see him again on such urgent notice. He speculated that perhaps his brother's new queen, Queen Ramonda, wanted to meet him in person, and he promised to return to Erik and his mother as soon as he could. 

And then three scant days after he had returned to his home country, Prince N'Jobu had been executed by his own brother. He had been accused by the Queen of trying to smuggle vibranium out of the country and orchestrating an attack at the border that had killed fifty members of Wakanda's Border Tribe. Then, the disgraced Prince N'Jobu had been immediately beheaded without even the pretense of a trial.

It was a clear and obvious setup.

Erik had been furious and horrified when he learnt of how his father had been framed and practically _murdered_. By his own brother and sister-in-law, no less.

At that moment, Erik swore to himself that he would return to Wakanda one day, seek justice for his father and clear his father's name.

But how could he do that?

Erik had his father's letter to prove his innocence, and the vibranium ring to prove his own identity. But would that be enough? King T'Chaka and Queen Ramonda had already shown that they were willing to arrange for a  convenient assassination when it suited them. It would be all too easy for them to make the evidence disappear and then kill Erik to continue to cover everything up. It was only by sheer luck that they hadn't known that Prince N'Jobu already had a son with his girlfriend back in America, or Erik was sure that they would have found a pretext to kill him too.

Thankfully, King T'Chaka was already frail and elderly. After discovering the truth, Erik only had to wait ten years before that evil demon finally died of old age, passing the throne to his thirty-year-old son, T'Challa. Erik's cousin. 

A new king. A new regime. A new chance for Erik to seek justice for his father, if only he could convince T'Challa to listen to him.

Erik knew that he had to tread very carefully to succeed in his plan. His cousin T'Challa was an enigma - a new, untested ruler. What if T'Challa turned out to be just as cruel and ruthless as his parents? Erik prayed that it wouldn't be the case, but he didn't get his hopes up.

Because of this, Erik couldn't just walk into Wakanda with the ring and the letter and appeal to T'Challa's sense of justice. It would be much too risky. Erik had to ensure that T'Challa liked him enough to at least listen to his story when he finally revealed the truth, instead of executing Erik on the spot for slandering his parents. 

Luckily, Wakanda offered a straightforward way for an outsider like Erik to get on the king's good side.

It was natural that the newly crowned king should take in new concubines for the imperial harem, instead of using his father's previous concubines. Anyone, male or female - even foreigners - could be selected to become one of the new king's concubines, as long as the king felt that they were attractive enough. And, of course, it was a requirement for the king's concubine to be a virgin.

Preserving his virginity up to this day had been _very_ difficult for twenty-year-old Erik. Torturous, even. The memories of some of his previous close calls made Erik flush. But his restraint and self-control had eventually paid off. Today, Erik was finally in Wakanda, hoping anxiously to be selected as one of T'Challa's new concubines. 

The line moved forward at a worryingly quick pace. Perhaps ninety percent of the hopefuls ahead of Erik were turned away by the panel after only a brief deliberation. Erik watched as the rejected girls filed past him, giggling and gossiping among themselves (it had been mostly girls who had shown up for the concubine selection). They didn't seem to be very disappointed - Erik had the feeling that unlike him, most of them had only applied to join the imperial harem just for fun, and hadn't really expected to be chosen to serve T'Challa.

Erik was simultaneously pleased that so much of his competition had been culled, and at the same time, nervous because T'Challa appeared to have _very_ high standards. In Erik's opinion, some of the rejected girls had been pretty damn hot. 

What if T'Challa didn't like him? What if T'Challa didn't think that Erik was attractive enough? 

Biting his lip, Erik touched the ring in his pocket again for luck. 

All too soon, Erik's name was called, and it was his turn to enter the room and face the selection panel. His heart pounding, Erik knocked once and entered the room. 

He was faced with a panel of six people - a representative from each of Wakanda's tribes, with King T'Challa sitting in the centre of the row, looking impassive. 

Erik had seen photos of T'Challa before, but this was the first time that Erik was face to face with T'Challa in person. 

T'Challa was extremely handsome and well-built. His bearing was authoritative and regal. T'Challa's large brown eyes flicked quickly over Erik's body, cool and assessing. Their eyes connected and with a jolt, Erik noticed that his cousin had very long, curling eyelashes.

Erik swallowed, hoping that T'Challa liked what he saw. Erik certainly did.

"Erik Stevens. American," T'Challa said coolly.

Erik nodded, throat dry, and then forced himself to say, "Yes, Your Highness." Erik's nerves made his voice come out a little more high-pitched than usual. 

T'Challa's gaze lingered on Erik for a few more seconds. Then, to Erik's dismay, T'Challa gave a small shake of his head.

An attendant waved Erik in the direction of the door. 

Erik's heart sank. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say another word, one of the panel members, a man with a blue blanket slung over his shoulder, spoke to T'Challa in an undertone in Xhosa, "Are you sure, my king? This one is quite handsome."

"You can bed him yourself if you think that he's so handsome, W'Kabi," T'Challa replied quietly in Xhosa. "If Okoye doesn't kill you first."

W'Kabi pressed on, undeterred. "It would be politic to select at least one foreigner. It would show that you are open-minded."

"Hmm...Perhaps. But not this one. Americans are too much trouble. He won't even know anything about us," T'Challa said. 

"I'm not troublesome!" Erik said quickly in Xhosa. "And I know a lot about Wakanda!"

For the first time, T'Challa turned the full force of his attention onto Erik. He stared right into Erik's eyes, curious and assessing. T'Challa's long, slim fingers tapped consideringly against the table. 

Erik gulped. 

"Oh, very well," T'Challa finally said, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Why not?"

"Thank you, Your Highness," Erik breathed out in total relief. He couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at being the fucking _diversity hire._ All Erik cared was that he was one step closer towards getting justice for his father.  

Now, all he had to do was make the king fall in love with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some changes from canon:
> 
> 1\. There is no challenge process, and as the illegitimate foreign son of the King's younger brother, Erik doesn't have a valid blood claim to the throne. No one in Wakanda would support him even if he killed T'Challa.
> 
> 2\. T'Chaka and Ramonda are the antagonists. Stories need antagonists.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Erik has spent his life obsessing over how to make T'Challa like him. Because of this, Erik is going to be a bit more sweet and less mean compared to canon.
> 
> \- T'Challa has all the usual rights and privileges of historical emperors - large harem, able to execute anyone he wants to, all his orders must be obeyed, etc. So T'Challa is going to be a bit less sweet and more...mean compared to canon.
> 
> Warning: following chapter contains mild noncon spanking.

After Erik was selected, there was a whirlwind of activity.

Erik was led to a private room by two bored-looking attendants. He protested vigorously as the attendants stripped him naked and threw his old clothes directly into the bin, but Erik shut up after he was given a gorgeous silky robe made of fine grey material. The robe was accompanied by a pair of extremely low-riding, gauzy harem pants that cupped around his ass.

The entire outfit was very slutty. Erik's eyes went wide as he checked himself out in the mirror. 

"Wow," Erik said. "I really gotta wear this?" 

One of the attendants nodded. "Yes. All male concubines do."

"You forgot to give me a shirt," Erik pointed out. 

"That's the entire set. You are not supposed to wear a shirt."

Damn. 

Erik felt a flush rise to his cheeks. The outfit was really scandalous. 

Well, he was the king's concubine now. He had to wear whatever the king wanted him to wear. Hopefully, this outfit would help him to catch T'Challa's attention.

"Now it's time for your medical checkup," the same attendant said.

Erik followed his attendants to the next room. Everything in the room was sleek, white and looked extremely futuristic. 

In the centre of the room, a teenage girl with her hair tied in two buns was sitting in front of a computer. 

"Sit," the girl said, not bothering to look up from her screen as she motioned towards a white stool. 

Erik sat. 

The girl turned around and perfunctorily waved a device that looked like a wand over Erik's head, and then glanced at her computer screen, which momentarily flashed green. 

"You'll be pleased to know that you're in good health," she said to Erik. 

"How does that scanner work?" Erik asked curiously. 

"Vibranium tech," the girl replied. 

The MIT geek in Erik wasn't satisfied with that answer. "That doesn't explain anything. That's like saying it works by 'magic'. I mean, _how_  does that device work? How can it tell that I'm healthy? You didn't draw my blood or even make contact with my skin. And there's no way that it could be some sort of X-ray scanner. It's not even hooked up to anything, and this device is too small to generate a large enough X-ray field by itself without some sort of external power source. And where does vibranium even come in? None of the known properties of vibranium correspond to this..."

The girl finally looked up from her computer and stared at Erik, eyes widening in surprise. 

"Oh Bast, is that _actual_  intellectual curiosity?! I can't believe that my brother finally married someone with a brain!" she cheered excitedly. 

...Brother?

So this had to be Shuri! Erik's younger cousin, the crown princess. 

"It's my own invention," Shuri said happily to Erik. "This generates a small field that resonates with your body's natural magnetic field. Any anomalies will be picked up and absorbed by the vibranium." 

"But there must be hundreds of thousands of diseases and possible variations...You accounted for _every_ possible anomaly?" 

"No, I didn't," Shuri said, grinning. "This just tests you for STDs. Just in case you weren't truthful about being a virgin." 

"...Oh," Erik said, flushing with embarrassment. This was definitely not a conversation that he wanted to be having with his teenage cousin.

"Actually, I'm currently working on a more comprehensive prototype. If you're free, you can come down here and watch me work if you want! It's always nice to be able to bounce ideas off someone, and Brother is always too busy with work," Shuri said. 

"That sounds good," Erik said, pleased. He couldn't wait to get to know his little cousin better. 

"Great!" Shuri said happily. "I'll see you around, then!"

 

* * *

With great difficulty, Erik slowly settled into the routine of life in T'Challa's harem.

Being T'Challa's concubine definitely wasn't as glamorous as Erik had imagined. Erik had thought that the king would pamper and spoil his concubines. However, T'Challa barely even visited the concubines in the inner palace. He would occasionally send word via one of the Dora Milaje for a concubine to join him for the night (Consort Nakia was T'Challa's most frequent selection, and Erik was desperately jealous of her), but T'Challa had not visited the harem in person since the selection day. As a result, Erik hadn't seen T'Challa even once since their first meeting. 

How was Erik going to be able to seduce T'Challa like this? He wasn't sure if T'Challa even remembered that he existed. 

On top of that, there were so many damned rules and protocols that Erik now had to follow. No slouching. No swearing. Bowing respectfully when meeting a superior. The rest of the concubines took to these rules like ducks to water - Erik gathered that they were mostly daughters of politically well-connected people, and were used to behaving like proper, well-behaved young ladies. But following the rules had never come easily to Erik, and he chafed at the sheer amount of restrictions suddenly placed on him. 

And the consequences for breaking any of the innumerable rules could be very severe. Erik learnt that although the king would be in charge of enforcing discipline in his court, the queen would be in charge of enforcing discipline in the inner palace, including the harem. Since T'Challa had not selected a queen yet, this power fell to Queen Mother Ramonda instead - the very person who had ruthlessly orchestrated the death of Erik's father. Essentially, the Queen Mother had free rein to discipline any of the concubines and servants in whatever way she saw fit, short of outright execution. Erik heard gossip from his fellow concubines of how an unfortunate servant girl had somehow managed to offend the Queen Mother, who had ordered her to be beaten so severely that it had taken a full three days for her to be healed, even with advanced Wakandan medicine.

On hearing this, Erik inmediately resolved to keep a low profile and avoid angering the Queen Mother. Of course, this meant that he had to be as compliant as possible to avoid attracting her attention. 

After one short week of acting like a meek and obedient little mouse, Erik was already quite miserable and tired of living in the harem. Now that he was stuck in a gilded cage, he missed the freedom of his old life in America. Erik cursed his inner romantic for coming up with such a terrible plan in the first place.

The only thing that Erik looked forward to after waking up each morning was his daily visit to Shuri's lab. Erik had finally given up on waiting around in the harem for T'Challa to visit, and decided to spend the free time getting to know his baby cousin better instead. After all, Shuri was his family, even if she didn't know it.

It lifted Erik's mood immensely to be able to escape, even for a brief period, from the suffocating restrictions of the harem and the constant fear of looking over his shoulder for the Queen Mother. And Shuri herself was a friendly, funny girl, who seemed to truly appreciate Erik's insights and suggestions on whatever she was working on at the moment. Spending time with Shuri made Erik happy, and he enjoyed working together with Shuri on her projects and putting his engineering skill to use. 

But even that brief period of happiness was not to last. 

 

* * *

"How is your research coming along, daughter?" Ramonda asked Shuri.

The royal family was dining together, as they usually did at least once per week. T'Challa did not really look forward to these weekly family dinners. Dealing with his mother for extended periods raised his blood pressure. 

"Great!" Shuri said cheerfully. "Erik and I have almost worked out the frictional issue causing the lag time in the nanite deployment!"

"Erik?" Ramonda asked, a small frown beginning to appear on her face.  

An alarm bell went off in T'Challa's head - in his experience, that expression usually foretold trouble ahead. T'Challa tried to recall who on earth Erik was. Oh yes - that American man whom W'Kabi had talked him into marrying, against T'Challa's better judgment. He had known that trouble would come from that.

_Americans._

T'Challa tried to catch Shuri's attention and motioned discreetly for her to be silent, but she continued on obliviously, "Yeah! Brother's new concubine. He's from America and he's been helping me out in the lab. He actually knows a lot about science!"

"Intelligent and exotic? You must like him a lot, Shuri. Have you been spending a lot of time alone with him?" Ramonda asked, faux-casually.

"Uh...yeah, kind of..." 

"That sounds interesting. I will speak to Erik," T'Challa said quickly, cutting Shuri off. But it was too late. Ramonda's anger had already been stoked.

"That concubine should have known better! It's completely inappropriate for him to try and get so close to the Crown Princess. She is a young, unmarried girl! People will talk," Ramonda said furiously. "I will personally discipline him myself." 

"No, it's nothing like that," Shuri said defensively. "We're not doing anything wrong! We were just working!"

"There is no need to trouble yourself with this, Mother," T'Challa said, motioning for Shuri to be silent and stop making things worse. "I was already intending to speak with Erik. I can handle this."

T'Challa honestly could not care less how his concubine wanted to spend his free time, be it with Shuri or anyone else, nor did he truly believe that Erik was foolish enough to try anything improper with Shuri. But T'Challa had to appease Ramonda. He vividly remembered how she had punished the poor servant girl who had recently incurred her wrath. In that case, T'Challa had found out too late to intervene, and he had no option but to let the matter go as Ramonda had been acting completely within the scope of her authority as Queen Mother. 

Annoyance briefly flared within T'Challa - tonight had been one of the rare nights when he had managed to clear all his paperwork before dinner, and he had originally planned to turn in early and catch up on some much-needed sleep. Now he had to spend his precious free time lecturing a concubine instead. But T'Challa's conscience could not let Erik be needlessly punished because of Ramonda's paranoia and strict ideas of propriety.

Ramonda looked like she still wanted to protest further, but she relented when T'Challa repeated firmly, "I will deal with it, Mother."

T'Challa sighed inwardly to himself. Another late night. 

 

* * *

T'Challa sent word via one of the Dora Milaje for Erik to be brought to his office. 

The Dora Milaje guarded the king as well as the king's harem. Previous kings of Wakanda had used eunuchs for that task, as there was no risk that the castrated eunuchs would father bastards with the king's concubines and pollute the line of succession. Other than the eunuchs, no other men besides the king himself were allowed to enter the inner palace. However, ever since the reign of T'Challa's great-great-grandfather, the palace had switched over to using the Dora Milaje - highly trained female guards - instead. It was considered to be more humane, and the Dora Milaje were as capable as the fiercest male warriors. 

There was a short knock on T'Challa's door. Okoye, the captain of the Dora Milaje, entered the room, with Erik following behind. 

T'Challa dismissed Okoye with a gesture, leaving Erik alone with him in the office. 

Erik bowed towards T'Challa in greeting. "Your Highness," Erik said as he straightened up. 

T'Challa took in Erik's appearance again. He hadn't had a chance to observe Erik closely since the selection day. Up close, Erik was really quite handsome. _Exotic_  was the adjective that Ramonda had used. T'Challa considered Erik's appearance - the particular dreadlocks style that Erik sported was not commonly worn in Wakanda, but it suited Erik very well. And so did the harem outfit, which really showed off Erik's figure. 

When T'Challa continued to remain silent, Erik began to look slightly nervous. Bashful, almost. No doubt he thought that T'Challa had called him in to serve him for the night. 

T'Challa decided that it wasn't fair of him to keep Erik waiting and lead him on. He thought that he should just get it over with as quickly as possible. It had been a long day and T'Challa was very tired.

"I have heard that you have been spending quite some time with the Crown Princess," T'Challa said. 

Erik looked confused. "Yes, Your Highness?" 

"You will cease doing so immediately. That is all. You may go," T'Challa said mildly.

Stunned, Erik gaped at T'Challa for a moment, his mouth falling open in disbelief. "What - why?!" Erik demanded indignantly. 

T'Challa bristled a little at Erik's tone - he was the king and he didn't owe anyone an explanation, least of all his own concubine. Nevertheless, T'Challa tried to keep his voice even as he said, "I have received some complaints about your close association with the Princess. You can see how it might look like to others, of course." 

"No, I _don't_ see," Erik said bluntly. "This is ridiculous. I'm not doing anything wrong. For fuck - for heaven's sake, she's just like a sister to me! We just talk!" 

T'Challa gritted his teeth in irritation. He was going out of his way to spare Erik from Ramonda's wrath, but the man just had to be difficult. He tried to reason with Erik for the final time. "You have an entire palace full of other people to talk to. You can even leave the palace and talk to anyone outside, if you like. Just stop associating with Shuri for the moment."

"No, I won't. This is insane. Are you jealous?" Erik said angrily. 

"Jealous - of Shuri? Over _you?"_ T'Challa was furious. 

Erik took a step back, eyes widening in dismay at the real anger in T'Challa's voice. 

"How dare you. Who do you think you are?" T'Challa said coldly. "Do you know that if I wanted to, I could bend you over the desk right now and have you? I should have you flogged for your impertinence for even daring to suggest this."

Shock and fear spread over Erik's face. 

"Bend over the desk," T'Challa ordered. 

"Please," Erik whispered. "Please, no, Your Highness. Please." 

_"Now,"_ T'Challa said coldly. "I won't ask twice." 

Erik walked slowly over to the heavy wooden  desk and bent over it, raising his ass in the air. He was trembling. His shaking only got worse at the sound of T'Challa's footsteps approaching, stopping right behind him. 

T'Challa raised his hand and landed a hard slap right across Erik's firm, round ass cheeks. 

Erik cried out, his entire body stiffening at the unexpected pain of the smack. He yelped out loud as T'Challa spanked him again, giving him two more open-handed slaps, one on each cheek.

T'Challa's hand stilled after the third smack. He didn't want to punish Erik too harshly, or to cause any serious pain beyond a temporary sting. T'Challa cupped Erik's ass briefly, feeling the heat radiating from the areas that he had just spanked, before letting his hand fall away. 

"Stand up and face me," T'Challa said. 

Erik scrambled to obey. Erik's eyes were wet and shiny with unshed tears, and he avoided looking directly at T'Challa. His cheeks were flushed with a dark red undertone. 

"You will not speak to Shuri again," T'Challa said coldly. "Not without my express permission."

"Yes, Your Highness," Erik whispered. 

"Good," T'Challa said. "You may go." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going to be a bdsm fic. It's a one off event that's important for characterization and plot (lol).


	3. Chapter 3

Once his initial terror had worn off, Erik was furious. 

He had jumped to the worst possible conclusion just now when T'Challa had ordered him to bend over. The fear that his first time would be something so humiliating and painful... But thankfully, T'Challa hadn't wanted to do anything worse than teaching Erik a lesson in obedience.

Erik had to admit that it was a very effective lesson. He didn't even dare to consider going behind T'Challa's back to meet up with Shuri now. Erik didn't want to imagine how badly T'Challa would punish him if he found out. 

A fresh wave of indignation and anger welled up within Erik. It was so unfair. He hadn't even done anything wrong! Erik couldn't believe that T'Challa was such an unreasonable tyrant. 

A part of Erik wanted to march up to T'Challa right now, show him his ring and letter and explain why, exactly, T'Challa's concern about his interactions with Shuri was completely misplaced. Shuri was his family, for fuck's sake.

But another, more self-preserving part of Erik knew that to do so would be suicide. If T'Challa got this angry over some backchat, there was no way that he would let Erik off with just a light spanking if Erik flat out accused his parents of murder. T'Challa would very likely behead Erik on the spot. 

It was so unfair. 

Erik's mood got even worse as he entered the inner palace. The other concubines in the harem giggled and nudged each other as Erik approached. They probably all thought that Erik had just been fucked by the king. What other reason would T'Challa have to call Erik to see him so late at night? 

Erik felt his face heat up in complete mortification. 

Most of the other girls quickly fell silent at the dark look on Erik's face. Except for Consort Nakia, who was the only one to speak up. 

"Erik, are you all right?" Nakia asked uncertainly. 

"Leave me alone," Erik muttered, pushing past her as he made his way toward his room. The last person that he wanted to speak to right now was T'Challa's favourite. 

Erik moved to slam his door shut so that he could sulk in peace, but Nakia kept the door from closing with her foot. Without invitation, she let herself into Erik's room. 

"What happened, Erik?" Nakia asked, concerned. She sat down cross-legged on the edge of Erik's bed. 

"Mind your own fucking business!" Erik snapped. God, why wouldn't she just leave him be? 

"Are you hurt?" Nakia continued worriedly. "You seem very upset. Did T'Challa...?" 

"It's none of your business!" Erik snapped. "Get out!" 

"Erik," Nakia said gently. "I know that you're still new, and you may not be familiar with things around here. Us girls here look out for each other. We protect each other. If T'Challa hurt or bullied you, you can tell me, and I promise that I'll do my best to help you out. I can try to talk to him for you," she offered. 

Erik sighed. He knew that as the highest-ranking concubine, Nakia had a lot of influence with T'Challa, and he could tell that she truly meant well. 

"T'Challa didn't really hurt me, if that's what you were worried about," Erik admitted sullenly. "He just hurt my pride. That's all."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nakia asked.

"No!" Erik said quickly, flushing in embarrassment. 

Nakia was sensitive enough not to press Erik any further. She just gave Erik a reassuring smile and patted the empty spot on the side of the bed beside her. 

Taking the hint, Erik sat down next to Nakia and allowed himself to relax a little. 

"It can be difficult, living in the palace. Dealing with the king," Nakia said sympathetically. "When I first entered the palace, I really hated it too. I never wanted to be a concubine. I wanted to be a War Dog and see the world. But my father needed the influence within the inner palace, and I was his only child of marriageable age. I had to do my duty to my family and the River Tribe."

"Oh," Erik said quietly. He couldn't imagine how terrible it would feel to face the same sort of pressure. At least Erik had joined the harem of his own free will, and he could technically leave if he ever wanted to. He wasn't as trapped as Nakia. 

"Well, at least it sort of worked out," Erik said. "T'Challa really likes you." 

"Of course. We've been friends since we were children. But T'Challa knows that I never wanted to be here, and he's always treated our arrangement as a strictly political marriage," Nakia said. "To be honest, it's the same with a lot of the girls here. And T'Challa is normally quite considerate about that. He keeps a respectful boundary, even though we all belong to the king and he really doesn't have to. I've never seen him hurt or even scare any of the concubines. In fact, he goes out of his way to protect us from the Queen Mother."

"Hmph," Erik huffed grudgingly. What Nakia had just said did explain a lot about why T'Challa visited the harem so infrequently, and kept such a distance from his own concubines. 

"I still think that he's a complete tyrant," Erik added petulantly. 

Nakia gave him a little smile. "T'Challa is a good man, really. The two of you might have started off on the wrong foot, but I'm sure that he'll eventually come to care for you too. I'll see if I can help you out with him. And remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk."

 

* * *

Even after Nakia's attempt at comforting him, Erik was still so upset that he barely managed to get any sleep that night. He was extremely grouchy and irritable when the first rays of sun broke through his window.

What was he going to do now?

He had managed to piss T'Challa off so badly that Erik was almost afraid to face him again. He wasn't allowed to meet Shuri, the only other member of his family that he had any interest in building a relationship with. (Getting to know his auntie was out of the question). And he was trapped in the palace with no one else to talk to - 

Wait. 

Actually, T'Challa had mentioned in passing that Erik was allowed to leave the palace. Previously, Erik had just assumed that he wasn't allowed to go out because none of the other concubines had ever done so. 

Hope rose in Erik's heart. He couldn't wait to get out of this stifling prison. 

Erik went straight to his closet to look for something to wear. No way was he going to leave the palace in his slutty harem outfit. 

... Damn. There were no normal clothes in his closet beyond a simple grey, woollen bathrobe and a pair of pants.

Oh well. Erik put them both on and briskly left the palace. 

 

* * *

Erik hopped on the levitating train and took it right to the very last stop, on Wakanda's Border.

Finally - freedom _._  

Breathing in the outside air felt great. The warmth of the sun's rays on his skin, the breeze in his hair, the rolling expanse of green grassy fields, so vastly different from the four walls of the palace - Erik hadn't realised that he had missed all of it so much. 

And there was even a fenced-off field with a rhino! The huge rhino walked right up to Erik and stared at him curiously, then lowered its head to lick Erik's cheek. Clearly it was domesticated and quite friendly. The rhino's slobber was a little gross, but Erik was delighted nonetheless. 

"I see that you've befriended one of my guards," a voice said from behind Erik. 

Erik turned around, and saw W'Kabi standing behind him - the same man who had convinced T'Challa to marry him on the selection day.

W'Kabi's eyes also widened slightly in recognition. 

"I remember you. You're T'Challa's American concubine," W'Kabi said.

"Yeah. I'm Erik Stevens," Erik said. 

"I am W'Kabi. What are you doing all the way out here, Erik?" W'Kabi said curiously. "None of the other concubines have ever come to the border before."

"I just wanted to get some fresh air," Erik said quickly. "T'Challa said I could leave the palace if I liked. I'm not doing anything wrong, okay?"

From Erik's defensiveness, W'Kabi seemed to guess that something was up. 

"Is everything alright, Erik?" W'Kabi asked kindly. 

Erik swallowed and looked away. He tried to distract himself by petting the rhino on its horn. The rhino closed its eyes in apparent enjoyment. 

"This rhino is a female. Her name is Anda," W'Kabi said. "We generally use the females as our guard rhinos, and the males as our war rhinos. The females are smaller than the males, but they're comparatively more territorial. It's quite unusual for Anda to be so friendly with strangers. Looks like she really likes you." 

Anda nudged Erik's palm one last time with her horn, and then wandered off to graze. 

"You can come and visit her anytime you want," W'Kabi offered. 

"Thank you," Erik said quietly, trying not to get too choked up. For some reason, W'Kabi's kindness made him feel even more fragile. 

"Are you homesick?" W'Kabi asked gently. "Do you miss your family in America?" 

"I don't really have any family left back home," Erik said. "My mother died when I was ten. And my father was killed when I was three. Murdered," Erik said bitterly. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," W'Kabi said sympathetically. "You know, my parents were also murdered when I was young. Casualties of an attack on our border."

Erik knew that W'Kabi was referring to the very same theft and bombing that his father had been framed for. A surge of anger and bitterness welled up within him.

"Yeah, I know about that," Erik said.

But some of Erik's long pent-up emotions must have seeped through into his voice, because W'Kabi gave him a sharp, assessing glance.  

"You know about the border attack?" W'Kabi said casually. "That happened quite a while ago. I don't believe that it was widely reported in America."

Erik fumbled to explain away his knowledge. 

"Um, I'm interested in international events," he said quickly. "I read foreign newspapers. I like to keep up with international news."

"The attack happened seventeen years ago," W'Kabi pointed out. "You're what, twenty? You were reading foreign newspapers at age three?" 

"I misspoke," Erik said hastily. "I mean, I'm interested in um, history too. Wakandan history. African history, generally."

"I see," W'Kabi said neutrally. "So what do you know about the border attack?" 

"I heard that Prince N'Jobu was accused of stealing vibranium and setting off a bomb at the border - " 

_"Accused?_ Very interesting choice of words," W'Kabi said. 

W'Kabi's hand shot out suddenly, gripping Erik by the wrist. 

"What are you hiding?" W'Kabi demanded. 

"Let me go!" Erik protested, trying to break free from W'Kabi's vice-like grip. 

"You should have said that Prince N'Jobu _stole_ vibranium and set off a bomb at the border," W'Kabi mused. "That was, after all, the finding of King T'Chaka. You speak about the border attack very unusually, and with unusual depth of emotion. Why would an American know or care about the intricacies of a decades-old attack in a small African country? For that matter, why would an American put in the effort to learn to speak Xhosa? Join the king's harem?"

W'Kabi's grip on Erik's wrist tightened painfully. He ground down on a pressure point in Erik's wrist, and Erik yelped as his entire hand went painfully numb. 

"Why are you really here, Erik Stevens? Answer me," W'Kabi said coldly. "Or I'll turn you in to T'Challa as a spy right now. It's my sacred duty to guard our borders from outside subversive influences." 

Erik's mind worked quickly. Clearly, W'Kabi wasn't going to let the matter drop. But if he told W'Kabi who he really was... 

Surely, W'Kabi would want to know the truth behind the murder of his parents. Erik had the royal ring, and a letter that proved that N'Jobu couldn't have been involved. 

"I'm going to show you something," Erik said warily. "Don't attack me."

"Show me what?" W'Kabi said suspiciously. 

"A ring and a letter in my pocket. I need to take them out." 

"I'll do it," W'Kabi said. "You keep your hands where I can see them."

Erik held himself still as W'Kabi reached into his pocket and drew out the ring by its chain. 

"Bast," W'Kabi whispered, watching as the vibranium ring spun lazily at the end of its silver chain, throwing off glinting flashes off sunlight. "That's the royal ring. Why would T'Challa give this to you? He never takes it off his finger." 

"It's not T'Challa's! It's mine! This ring belonged to my father, N'Jobu. He left it to me and my mother, along with a letter that he wrote before he returned to Wakanda." 

W'Kabi read through the letter, looking grimly satisfied. 

"I always knew that there was something more behind the border attack," W'Kabi said finally. "Prince N'Jobu and my father used to be close friends before he left for America. I knew him personally. He visited my family often when I was growing up. I couldn't believe it when T'Chaka and Ramonda announced that their investigation found that N'Jobu was behind the attack. I was sure that  N'Jobu would never have endangered the lives of my parents and my tribe... But I never had any proof beyond my suspicions."

W'Kabi looked up from the letter, meeting Erik's eyes. "So that's why you joined the harem. You intend to seduce T'Challa and then tell him about this?" 

"Yes," Erik said. 

"You need to be very careful about how you reveal the truth to T'Challa," W'Kabi warned Erik. 

"Yeah, I know that. I don't intend to tell him so soon," Erik said. 

"How is your relationship with T'Challa now?" W'Kabi asked. "Is he fond of you?" 

Erik winced. "Not really." 

"Hmm. He hasn't noticed you yet? Don't worry too much about that. You've only just joined the harem. Take your time to work on T'Challa. I'll try to help you out." 

Erik was very pleased to have found another ally, but he wasn't sure that W'Kabi appreciated exactly how bad his relationship with T'Challa was at the moment.

"Ahh, about that..." Erik said sheepishly. "He's actually taken notice of me. Just, not in a good way." 

'What happened?" W'Kabi asked. 

Erik didn't want to go into all the embarrassing details of how T'Challa had punished him. Instead, he just said, "T'Challa got a bit angry at me last night. But Nakia said that she'd talk to him for me, and that T'Challa would come around. She told me that T'Challa is a good man who treats his concubines very well." 

"Use your brain, Erik," W'Kabi said impatiently. "Of course T'Challa treats Nakia well, she's his childhood friend. And of course he treats his other concubines well too - they're all politically well-connected, and he can't really afford to offend their families even if he's the king. But someone like you? With no connections and no family or tribe backing you up? Worse still, the son of a traitor? If I were him, even if I believed your story, I'd execute you right away. You're a threat to his dynasty and his parents' legacy."

"Shit," Erik muttered, feeling icy cold fear grip his heart.

"Look, I'm not trying to scare you," W'Kabi said. "I'm just warning you to be very, very careful about how you deal with T'Challa. Try not to anger him again. T'Challa isn't a tyrant by any stretch, but you can't bet your life on him being a good man, no matter what Nakia or the other concubines might tell you. Never forget that T'Challa isn't just your lover, or your friend, or your boss. He's your  _king,_ and the king is very dangerous. You can't pin all your hopes on his sense of justice and mercy. You need to _ensure_ that he can't bear to kill you. Your circumstances aren't the same as the other girls. Does T'Challa already treat you any differently from his other concubines?"

"...Fuck. Yeah, he does," Erik admitted unhappily. "Nakia said that T'Challa never hurts or scares any of his concubines. But he sure didn't hesitate to do that to me yesterday."

"T'Challa hurt you?" W'Kabi said sharply. "That's really very unusual. I thought you said that he just got a bit angry! Are you all right? Did he beat you?" 

"No! It wasn't anything like that!" Erik denied. 

"What did he do to you?" W'Kabi asked intently. 

"It wasn't anything really bad. Just something stupid. I don't wanna talk about it," Erik said quickly, his face heating up in mortification. 

"Don't be ridiculous," W'Kabi snapped. "Just tell me. It's important that I know exactly where you stand with T'Challa right now. How can we possibly strategize together if you insist on keeping secrets?"

Clearly, W'Kabi wasn't as sensitive to Erik's feelings as Nakia, who had dropped the matter immediately when Erik showed his reluctance to discuss it. The worst part was, Erik couldn't think of a good way to refute W'Kabi's points.

Erik had no choice but to grit his teeth and swallow down his pride. 

"T'Challa spanked me, all right?" Erik admitted, feeling completely embarrassed. "Just a bit, and not very hard. In fact it barely even hurt. I was fine in just a few minutes. But at that time, I was afraid that he'd do something much worse to me."

W'Kabi looked baffled. "Why would T'Challa even do that? Look, if it was some sort of sex game -"

Erik wanted to die of shame. "It wasn't a fucking sex game! It was a punishment. He was angry with me. Because - because he wanted me to stop spending so much time alone with Shuri. I refused, and I told him that he was unreasonable and crazy and jealous. Then he got really mad and scolded me -"

"You said _what_ to T'Challa? Are you crazy? Are you suicidal? Do you even have the slightest shred of common sense at all?" W'Kabi said incredulously. "That was extremely stupid of you. In the future, never, ever disobey T'Challa again! Not to his face, at least. Just tell him _'Yes, Your Highness'_ and then find a way to persuade him later. Or just agree first, and then take your time to think of your own subtle way around it." 

"Damn," Erik breathed, torn between awe and judgment. "That's so...underhanded." 

"That's just politics," W'Kabi said with a shrug. "I led the Border Tribe for ten years, in T'Chaka's court, when I was right about your age. You think T'Challa is scary? T'Chaka was a hundred times worse. T'Chaka and Ramonda carried out executions at their whims. Everyone feared them. T'Challa hasn't even executed a single person yet. He's never had anyone flogged before. Actually, I think you're probably the first person that he's ever decided to punish."

"Oh god, I can't do this," Erik moaned. "Fuck. I'm gonna die. T'Challa is gonna kill me!" 

"Stop panicking," W'Kabi said firmly. "You can do it. I'll help you. If I can manage T'Chaka, you can learn to manage T'Challa too. I'll put in a good word for you with T'Challa. We're close friends, he listens to me. Occasionally. On your part, you just have to be very,  _very_ careful. Don't even breathe a word of this secret to anyone else. You really shouldn't even have told me. What if I had turned you in to T'Challa or Ramonda to gain their favour?"

"I knew you wouldn't have," Erik said defensively. "I know your parents died in the attack. You would have wanted the real murderer to be punished."

"Regardless, you couldn't have _known_ for sure. You didn't know anything about me. You really need to stop taking this sort of stupid risks. Don't tell anyone else, anyone at all. And for Bast's sake, stop keeping all of this incriminating evidence on you. What if someone else found it? Hide the ring and the letter somewhere very safe," W'Kabi said. 

"Hmm," Erik said thoughtfully. "I know. I can hide it - "

"Don't tell me where you're going to hide it!" W'Kabi almost shouted. "What if I let it slip? What if someone forced it out of me? What if I changed my mind and decided to betray you? Bast, you're really hopeless. You have no sense of self-preservation at all."

"Okay, okay," Erik said, wincing. "I got it. Calm down. I'll keep my big mouth shut."

_"Good._ And finally, stop picking fights with T'Challa. He can do a lot worse than spank you. Just stay out of trouble. As a first step, just try to make him like you." 

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that? He already hates me!" Erik said. 

W'Kabi took a step back and eyed Erik critically from head to toe. 

"Maybe you should wear something more revealing," W'Kabi suggested, after a pause. 

"Fucking hell, W'Kabi," Erik groaned. "What sort of shitty suggestion is that?" 

"Hey, _I'm_ not the concubine," W'Kabi pointed out. "What do I know about seducing men? _I'm_ only the leader of the Border Tribe. I can help you scheme, sure. But when it comes to seducing T'Challa? You're on your own." 

Erik looked so despondent then that he must have made W'Kabi feel sorry for him. 

"Maybe you could try being yourself," W'Kabi suggested, almost kindly. But he still couldn't manage to stop his lips from quirking up in a sardonic little twist.

"I'm going to die," Erik said in despair. "T'Challa is gonna behead me within the week."


	4. Chapter 4

T'Challa couldn't concentrate on the Merchant Tribe's quarterly report, which had been spread out in front of him for the past fifteen minutes. His eyes scanned the opening paragraph again for what must have been the fifth time,  _"On a quarter-to-quarter seasonally adjusted annualised basis, our economy expanded by three point three (3.3) percent, moderating from the four point zero (4.0) percent growth of the previous quarter..."_

 

Unbidden, T'Challa's thoughts kept drifting back to the stricken look on Erik's face last night. The memory of Erik's dark brown eyes, shining with unshed tears, made T'Challa feel uncomfortably guilty. He had never made any of his concubines cry before. 

T'Challa wondered if he had perhaps been too harsh with his young concubine. He regretted losing his temper with Erik. Of course, he had every right to discipline Erik, and Erik had undoubtedly provoked him first. But T'Challa still felt like he should have been a little more restrained. The truth was, he simply wasn't used to being so openly defied.

Oh, sure, Shuri treated him exactly like an annoying old brother instead of a king, but she was practically the only person who dared to do so. Even W'Kabi, his best friend since childhood, was still circumspect enough to watch his tongue when around T'Challa. No one else would have dared to speak to him in the same manner as Erik had done last night. 

His parents used to have talks with him about how to rule the country. _"Make them fear you,"_  his father had said, and at that time, T'Challa had agreed. But faced with the reality of Erik's stricken, fearful expression last night after T'Challa had punished him... 

T'Challa wondered how Erik was feeling now. He hoped that Erik wasn't too upset. 

Sighing, T'Challa got up from his seat and walked towards the window. It didn't look like he was going to get any work done tonight. 

He looked out at the rest of the palace grounds, spread out below him. Gleaming little points of golden light studded the garden grounds, shining forth from crystal lanterns that were specially lit each night  The pointed roofs of the inner palace were visible in the distance, silhouetted against the night sky. 

An idea suddenly struck T'Challa. Perhaps he could speak to Nakia about this.

T'Challa knew that Nakia was quite close to most of the other concubines, and she liked to take the new ones under her wing. Maybe Erik had confided in her. 

He thumbed one of the beads on his kimoyo bracelet and connected to his private communications channel with Nakia.

After several rings, Nakia picked up. Her face was projected in a little holographic display above his kimoyo bracelet. 

"Hello, Nakia," T'Challa said. 

"T'Challa!" Nakia said, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "How are you? You're working late tonight?" 

"Not really," T'Challa said. "I'm trying to, but I can't concentrate well."

"Something on your mind?" Nakia said, eyes bright and keen. 

"It's Erik," T'Challa said. "Does he seem...ah, upset to you?" 

"Um..." Nakia hesitated, clearly torn between her desire to protect Erik's privacy, and her reluctance to evade answering a direct question from the king. 

"There's no need to tell me anything that Erik said in confidence to you," T'Challa said quickly. "I just want to know how he's doing."

"To be honest, he was really upset last night," Nakia said. "I haven't seen him since then. He was out of the palace the entire day. Now he's shut up in his room - I think he's sulking."

"Oh," T'Challa said uncomfortably. He really hadn't expected Erik to be so badly affected, given how defiant he had been last night. 

"If I may -" Nakia said, then paused. 

"You can speak freely with me," T'Challa assured her.

"Honestly, I don't think that Erik is happy here," Nakia said. "He's not really close to any of the other girls. It must be difficult for him, being one of the few men in the harem. He doesn't really have any close friends to talk to. And his mood got much worse after last night. I don't know the details of what happened between the both of you, but he was very upset."

T'Challa sighed. Knowing that Erik wasn't close to the other concubines actually explained a lot about why he had been so insistent on speaking with Shuri.

"What happened, T'Challa?" Nakia asked curiously. 

"I punished Erik for refusing to listen to me," T'Challa admitted.

"T'Challa, you should be more patient with him," Nakia said, frowning. "You know that he's new here, and he's a foreigner too. You can't possibly expect Erik to be as well-behaved as the other girls."

"Of course I don't expect that of him. But he was  _really_  rude," T'Challa protested. "I was actually quite reasonable, but he really pushed it." 

Nakia said, "You are the king, T'Challa -"

"- Which Erik should have kept in mind," T'Challa muttered. 

"Erik is completely at your mercy," Nakia reminded him. "From your perspective, you might not have been very harsh, but the effects of your actions are magnified by your position. Even if you had just told him off, Erik might have taken it very personally. I can tell that whatever happened last night really upset him."

Guiltily, T'Challa recalled that he had done much more than merely telling Erik off.

T'Challa rubbed his temple in resignation. "All right, all right. I'll talk to Erik again."

"That's great," Nakia said, beaming. "You know, I just thought of something. You're going to America with Shuri soon, right? For the scientific exchange trip to Silicon Valley? Why don't you bring Erik along with you? I'm sure that he misses America. He's probably homesick."

"Are you sure?" T'Challa asked in surprise. "I would have thought that you'd want to go instead. You love to travel. In fact, I was going to offer to bring you along."

"It's fine, I can still go for any of your other trips in the future. It would be good for Erik to go for this one instead. You two can also get to know each other better," Nakia said.

"That's very thoughtful of you," T'Challa said. "It's a good suggestion. All right, I'll think about it and talk to Erik again."

"Try and be nice to Erik, T'Challa," Nakia advised. 

"Good night, Nakia," T'Challa said noncommittally. He ended the call.

 

* * *

"Okoye, please bring Erik to see me," T'Challa said.

"Yes, Your Highness," Okoye said. 

While waiting for Erik, T'Challa tried to concentrate on his reading. However, he was soon interrupted by Okoye buzzing him on his kimoyo bracelet.

"Ah, Your Highness?" Okoye said hesitantly. "Erik doesn't want to come."

"What?" T'Challa said in disbelief.

"He refuses to leave his room," Okoye said. "I've already told him that you wanted to see him, but he still doesn't want to come out."

_That impossible_   _man_ , T'Challa thought to himself in exasperation.

"It's all right, Okoye. I'll go and see him personally," T'Challa said. "You don't have to come back here. I'll go to the harem by myself."

 

* * *

"He's in a mood," was all Okoye said as she pointed T'Challa in the direction of Erik's room. 

T'Challa raised his eyebrow at Okoye, but she didn't explain any further. Bemused, T'Challa knocked once on the door of Erik's room.

When there was no response, T'Challa let himself in.

Erik was lying on his stomach on the bed, his head buried under a pillow. He didn't get up at the sound of the door opening.

"Get out, Okoye," Erik groaned in a muffled voice. "I don't care what you say, I'm not gonna go. I ain't gonna walk to my death. If T'Challa wants to kill me so badly, he should have the balls to come and do it himself."

T'Challa rolled his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. 

"I said  _go away,_ " Erik whined. 

"Hello, Erik," T'Challa said dryly. 

Upon hearing the unexpected voice, Erik sat up quickly. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of T'Challa standing in his room, arms crossed over his chest.

An expression of shock and dismay came over Erik's face. 

"What the fuck!?" Erik exclaimed. "Sorry, sorry, I mean - Your Highness! I, uh, didn't know that it was you." 

"Evidently not," T'Challa said. 

"Holy shit, you really came here to kill me?" Erik asked in shock. 

T'Challa sat down on the side of Erik's bed. "I'm just here to visit you, Erik. That's all. What makes you think that I'm going to kill you?" he asked, puzzled.

Erik did not look particularly convinced by this. If anything, he looked even more nervous.

"You practically never come to the harem, especially not at this time of the night. And why would you suddenly visit me? You hate me. What's going on?" Erik asked worriedly. "Don't tell me that W'Kabi really sold me out, and you've now come to execute me."

"Erik..." T'Challa said slowly, temporarily at a loss for words. He did not know why Erik, who had previously been so headstrong, was now suddenly so fearful for his life. And he had no idea why Erik had suddenly brought W'Kabi up.  

Wait. Perhaps the two things were connected.

"Did you see W'Kabi today? Is that why you left the palace?" T'Challa asked.

Erik hesitated.

"Tell me," T'Challa ordered.

Erik swallowed. "Yes? You said that I could leave the palace if I wanted. Am I in trouble for talking to him too?"

"Of course not," T'Challa said. "Has W'Kabi been telling you his war stories? Look, don't let him scare you. He has a slightly warped view of the royal court. It's not his fault - he spent ten years dealing with my father, and he's learnt to be very cautious - but it may have made him more than a little paranoid. I'm not my father. You have nothing to fear from me. I've never executed anyone before, and I'm certainly not about to start with  _you_." 

"Yeah, right," Erik mumbled. "You're still gonna kill me eventually." 

T'Challa sighed.

"W'Kabi really scared you, didn't he?" T'Challa said gently. "I'll have a talk with him about this."

"You shouldn't," Erik said, looking inexplicably worried at the prospect of T'Challa speaking to W'Kabi. "Don't bother. I mean, it's not necessary. Really."  

 

T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "I'll be the judge of that."

Erik bit his lip nervously. 

Nakia's words echoed in T'Challa's head:  _Be nice to Erik_.

"You have nothing to worry about," T'Challa assured him, trying to keep his voice gentle. "I know that I was strict with you yesterday, but I'm not angry at you now. I certainly don't hate you, and I promise that I am not going to execute you."

There was short pause. "Maybe not now, but it's gonna happen sooner or later anyway," Erik said in resignation. 

Concern and worry welled up in T'Challa. 

"Erik, do you want to leave the palace?" T'Challa said slowly.

"You're kicking me out?" Erik said sharply, his head jerking up in alarm.

"No, of course not. But if you truly feel unhappy and afraid here, I want you to know that you can leave anytime you want. You're not my prisoner," T'Challa said. "I don't want you to spend your life living in fear." 

"I don't wanna leave here. I've got nowhere else to go," Erik admitted quietly, after a pause.

T'Challa couldn't help but feel very sorry for Erik. Impulsively, he said, "I'll be going to America with Shuri next week. Would you like to come with us? You can speak to Shuri as much as you like - I'll be there to chaperone her, my mother can't possibly complain about  _that._  And we can get to know each other better, so you can stop worrying that I'll find any excuse to cut your head off."

"Really?" Erik finally looked happier, a sparkle coming back into his eyes. "Yes! I'd love to." 

T'Challa found that he enjoyed this bright-eyed look on Erik very much. He leaned over to kiss Erik briefly on the forehead. "Good. And now I'm going to call W'Kabi and tell him off for scaring you. No, stop protesting. I've already made up my mind."

 

* * *

"Your Highness," W'Kabi greeted. He looked surprised to receive a call from T'Challa so late at night.

"What did you say to Erik?" T'Challa said crossly, without preamble.

"Erik?" W'Kabi asked, looking confused.

"Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you talked to him earlier today," T'Challa said impatiently. "Why does Erik now think that I'm going to execute him at any moment?"

There was a pause, and then W'Kabi said carefully, "You know, I believe that Erik's fear might have more to do with what  _you've_  done to him, rather than anything  _I_  might have said."

T'Challa dropped into his seat and groaned. "How could you possibly know - ? Wait, Erik told you what I did? He actually told you about what happened last night?"

"I coaxed the entire story out of him earlier today," W'Kabi said. "You know that I can be very persuasive when I want."

T'Challa did know. He remembered seeing W'Kabi talk rings around the other tribal representatives in his father's court.

"T'Challa, you shouldn't discipline Erik so harshly," W'Kabi chided. "He's so new. You should make some allowances for his behaviour. How could you just spank him like that? He might not have dared to tell you this, but he was really upset. Would you have done that to any of your other girls?"

"What happens in my household is none of your business," T'Challa huffed. "I don't meddle in whatever goes on between you and Okoye. And how did this conversation even turn into  _you_  lecturing  _me_? I was intending to tell you off."

W'Kabi laughed. "Tell me off? Hey, I didn't even do anything. I even told Erik that you weren't so bad. He was really panicking, but I told him that you weren't a tyrant."

"Wow. That's really high praise there," T'Challa deadpanned. 

W'Kabi laughed again. "I'm not sure if he completely believed me, though. You know, you should spend more time with Erik. Show him that he has nothing to be afraid of. Erik just isn't used to you yet. I know what - why don't you bring him along with you to America?" W'Kabi said, as if the idea had just occurred to him. 

T'Challa narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're the third person to suggest this to me."

"Hmm. Shuri, of course, would be one of them. But who else? Ah. Nakia, was it? She wanted you to bring Erik instead of her?" W'Kabi deduced. 

"You know too much," T'Challa complained, but without any real anger in his voice. "You're such a busybody." 

"Knowledge is power," W'Kabi said smoothly.

"And it seems like Erik has made a lot of powerful friends," T'Challa said thoughtfully. "Shuri. Nakia. You, for some reason. Interesting."

"Oh, I wouldn't really put it like that," W'Kabi said. "Erik doesn't strike me as the ambitious type."

"I don't actually mind if he's ambitious," T'Challa said. "It's intriguing, that's all. Anyway, I've already offered to take Erik to America, and he said yes." 

"That's great," W'Kabi said, looking genuinely pleased. "I hope that the two of you get along well." 

"You're really concerned about him," T'Challa observed.

"I feel a bit responsible for Erik," W'Kabi acknowledged. "I was the one who suggested that you take him as a concubine. Of course I want it to work out."

"Ah..." T'Challa said slowly. "Now I see why you did that. Erik is a foreigner with no tribe or family allegiance. No ties. You help Erik out, he feels grateful to you, and the Border Tribe gains influence in the inner palace, even though I haven't accepted any concubines from your tribe yet. And if it doesn't work out, you won't even lose any standing, because Erik isn't officially one of yours. Very smart."

"That's an interesting theory that you've come up with," W'Kabi said, sounding amused. "But you give me too much credit, T'Challa."

T'Challa was not fooled - he knew that W'Kabi was shrewd enough to have thought of something like that. He had probably come up with this idea from the very moment that he had set eyes on Erik during the selection process. 

"You ought to declare your patronage," T'Challa  said. "That's the custom. It gives the other tribes fair warning."

"And just show my hand like that? No," W'Kabi said. "But I'll do it, if my king commands."

T'Challa rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Just don't be too obvious about it. Have fun scheming. Good night, W'Kabi."

"Good night, Your Highness," W'Kabi said with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation: T'Challa has drawn a faulty (but reasonable) conclusion about W'Kabi's motivation for helping Erik. W'Kabi finds it convenient to let T'Challa believe that, because it gives him a great reason for continuing to support Erik.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD I'M SO SORRY. I never intended to update this fic a whole TWO MONTHS later, but I got sidetracked writing "just one hit". 
> 
> Anyway, I promise this isn't abandoned, and I'm still working on it!

 T'Challa observed Erik out of the corner of his eye as he stretched out in his plane seat. 

Erik appeared significantly more relaxed and carefree, now that they were away from the restrictive palace halls, en route to America. He was laughing and joking with Shuri, both of them seated across the aisle from T'Challa. He still seemed to be a little wary of T'Challa, but 

Upon boarding, Erik had been visibly impressed with the private jet, exclaiming over the opulence of the aircraft interior. He immediately kicked back and made himself comfortable in one of the plush seats. 

Shuri, on the other hand, had nothing but complaints. 

"Why couldn't we have taken the Royal Talon Fighter instead?" Shuri groused. "It's going to take us at least fifteen hours to get to America in this tin can! And I've just streamlined the engine systems of the RTF too."

"We have to report our flight plan to the US aviation authority," T'Challa explained. "It would look extremely suspicious if we got there too quickly. And how would we explain away the tech in the RTF?" 

"We could just shield it and park it somewhere inaccessible," Shuri argued. 

"Then they'd wonder how we got to America in the first place," T'Challa pointed out. "That's only going to raise more questions."

"Ah, Princess, let's just enjoy the ride," Erik interjected. "This is an awesome private jet! I dunno what you're complaining about."

"You may be happy now, but just wait till you're stuck in a confined space as my annoying brother for _fifteen freaking hours_ ," Shuri muttered. 

"Nineteen and a half hours," T'Challa corrected. 

Shuri groaned theatrically, before pointedly crossing the aisle to take a seat away from T'Challa. 

T'Challa rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, drawing a short laugh from Erik, who had caught sight of the look on his face. 

The first hour of their plane ride passed pleasantly enough. Erik and Shuri chatted and told each other stories, while T'Challa mostly listened in silence, interjecting with the occasional comment. 

Now, Erik and Shuri had gotten bored and were trying to one-up each other with increasingly terrible jokes. 

"Oh my god, that one was so bad," Erik groaned. "Wait wait wait, I got a better joke. It's a math joke. _And_ a physics joke. _And_ a terrible pun, all rolled into one. You can't top this one," Erik said, a gleam coming into his eyes.

"Yeah?" Shuri said, looking interested. 

Erik began:

>  "An infinite number of mathematicians walk into a bar. The first mathematician orders a beer. 
> 
> The second mathematician orders half a beer -" 

"I've heard this one before!" Shuri interrupted.

"No, you really haven't," Erik assured her.

"Yes, I have!" Shuri insisted. "I know what happens next:

>  "The third mathematician orders a quarter of a beer.
> 
> Then before the fourth mathematician can order a quarter of a beer, the bartender sets out two beers in front of them. 'Know your limits,' he says."

T'Challa blinked. "That wasn't very funny," he said to Shuri and Erik. 

"Yeah, that wasn't funny because it _wasn't my joke!"_ Erik said indignantly. "Let me finish:

>  "I don't serve half-beers," the bartender replies. 
> 
> "Excuse me?" asks the second mathematician.
> 
>  
> 
> "What kind of bar serves half-beers?" the bartender says. "That's ridiculous."
> 
>  
> 
> "Oh, come on," says the first mathematician. "Do you know how hard it is to collect an infinite number of us? Just play along."
> 
>  
> 
> "There are very strict laws on how I can serve drinks. I couldn't serve you half a beer even if I wanted to," the bartender says.
> 
>  
> 
> "But that's not a problem!" the third mathematician chimes in. "At the end of the joke, you serve us a whole number of beers. You see, when you take the sum of a continuously halving function -"
> 
>  
> 
> "- I know how limits work," interjects the bartender.
> 
>  
> 
> "Oh, alright then. I didn't want to assume a bartender would be familiar with such advanced mathematics," the third mathematician says.
> 
>  
> 
> "Are you kidding me?" the bartender says incredulously. "You learn limits in like, the ninth grade! What kind of mathematician thinks that limits are advanced mathematics?"
> 
>  
> 
> "HE'S ON TO US!" the first mathematician screeches.
> 
>  
> 
> Suddenly, every mathematician opens their mouth and out pours a cloud of multicolored mosquitoes. Each mathematician is bellowing insects of a different shade.
> 
>  
> 
> The mosquitoes form into a singular, polychromatic swarm. "FOOLS," the swarm buzzes in unison, "I WILL INFECT EVERY BEING ON THIS PATHETIC PLANET WITH MALARIA!" 
> 
>  
> 
> The bartender stands fearlessly against the technicolor hoard. "But wait!" he interrupts, thinking fast. "If you do that, politicians will use the catastrophe as an excuse to implement free healthcare. Think of how much that will hurt the taxpayers!"
> 
>  
> 
> The mosquitoes fall silent for a brief moment. "You're right. We didn't think about the economy! Very well, we will not attack this dimension. FOR THE TAXPAYERS!"
> 
>  
> 
> And with that, the mosquitoes vanish.
> 
>  
> 
> A nearby barfly stumbles over to the bartender. "How did you know that that would work?" he says in amazement.
> 
>  
> 
> "It's simple, really," the bartender says smugly. "I saw that the vectors formed a gradient, and therefore must be conservative."

There was a pause, during which T'Challa and Shuri stared at Erik.

Nobody laughed. 

Erik began to look a little uncomfortable. "I thought it was funny. It means -"

"Of course we understood the joke!" Shuri said. "It just wasn't funny!"

T'Challa snorted. "No, I liked it," he said. 

A bright, victorious smile broke across Erik's face. "See?" he said smugly to Shuri. 

"Ugh, brother, you're so biased," Shuri complained. "I'm done with the two of you! I'm going to take a nap. Twenty freaking hours of flight time - I'm going to be so jet lagged by the time we land."

Shuri went towards the back of the plane, flopping across a row of empty seats. She pointedly curled up facing the wall, back towards T'Challa and Erik. 

T'Challa snorted again. 

"Where did you even hear that ridiculous joke?" he asked Erik. 

"I think one of my classmates in college told me," Erik said.

"Do you miss them?" T'Challa asked. 

"Eh, not really. I mean, maybe a little bit?" Erik said, shrugging. "I wasn't really close to anyone when I was in MIT. Sure, I had a lot of friends and acquaintances, but we weren't tight. I had more friends back in Oakland, but Oakland was a pretty shitty place, so I was glad to get out of there."

T'Challa had never heard Erik speak so candidly about his past before. He didn't sound homesick or nostalgic, not exactly. Just resigned. 

Perhaps a little bitter? 

T'Challa wondered what would drive an American man to move halfway around the world, to marry someone from a culture that he didn't even know. Surely, with Erik's looks and intelligence, he could have any man he wanted back in America. What made him decide to become T'Challa's concubine instead? 

Even though they had been married for almost a fortnight by now, Erik was still an enigma to him. 

Erik continued, "Okay, okay, I didn't think Oakland was all that shitty when I was growing up there, cause it was all I knew.  It was only after I got out of there that I realized how bad it really was. But when I was living there with my ma, I thought it was the best home in the world."

Erik's voice softened. "She died when I was ten. I didn't have any other relatives left - dad died when I was three," his voice broke a little, but he soldiered on. "So I went into the system."

"System?" T'Challa asked. 

"Foster care system," Erik clarified, his face darkening slightly. 

"I'm sorry," T'Challa said sympathetically. He wasn't exactly familiar with the state of the foster care system in America, but the look on Erik's face spoke volumes. 

"Ah, I dunno why I'm telling you all this," Erik said quickly, sounding embarrassed to have revealed so much of himself. "It's really not important. I didn't mean to bore you, Your Highness."

"No, it's fine," T'Challa assured him. "I like hearing you speak. And please, call me T'Challa." 

A bright smile spread across Erik's face, his gloomy mood dissipating immediately. "Yeah?"

"Yes," T'Challa said firmly. He closed his hand over Erik's fist, which was laying on the armrest between them, and gently stroked his thumb over Erik's knuckles. 

Erik looked down bashfully, then swallowed once before he continued. "So after that, when I was in my final year of high school..." 

T'Challa let Erik's voice wash over him, his world narrowing to the feeling of Erik's hand in his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got Erik's joke from Reddit. Explanation here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/929r9g/an_infinite_number_of_mathematicians_walk_into_a/e34u7eo/ ](https://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/929r9g/an_infinite_number_of_mathematicians_walk_into_a/e34u7eo/). 
> 
>  
> 
> (Yes, I unironically loved this joke, haha.)


	6. Chapter 6

Erik woke up abruptly with a crick in his neck. He raised his hand to massage the sore spot, then started in surprise when he realised that he had somehow managed to nod off while resting against T'Challa's shoulder.  

T'Challa smiled warmly at him. "You fell asleep when we were halfway across the Pacific Ocean," he said. "I thought it was best to let you rest."

"Oh," Erik said. "You really should've woken me up... I think I might have drooled on your shoulder."

T'Challa laughed affectionately. "Don't worry about it, love."

Erik could feel his cheeks heating up with a pleasant flush of embarrassment.

He twisted and stretched in his seat, working out the kinks in his stiff muscles. He could practically feel the weight of T'Challa's eyes on him, watching as his shirt rode up a little to expose the tiniest strip of skin above his waist.  

"We're landing in half an hour," T'Challa said, his voice almost imperceptibly huskier. "After that, we'll go straight to the hotel. You can rest there, and perhaps we can explore the city together tomorrow. We have an entire day off before the conference."  

"Mmm. Sounds good," Erik said, feeling pleased with himself. A part of him was still viscerally afraid of his cousin, and of T'Challa's absolute power over him - but at least T'Challa seemed much more favourably inclined towards him now. 

Erik stretched again, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. At the same time, he could hear Shuri's snoring coming from the back of the plane.

"How come you aren't tired?" he asked T'Challa. "You didn't sleep at all."

"One of the many pleasant side effects of the heart-shaped herb," T'Challa said. "I don't get tired easily. I have a lot of stamina."

T'Challa's facial expression was bland, but there was an undercurrent of suggestiveness in his words that was enough to make Erik flush again. 

A corner of T'Challa's mouth quirked up in amusement. 

"I'll go and wake Shuri," T'Challa said, not even bothering to hide his teasing smirk now. 

As T'Challa got up from his seat, he brushed past Erik's arm, sending a jolt of electricity sparking through him. 

 

* * *

  

Once they had landed, T'Challa, Shuri and Erik were whisked off into a sleek black limousine, guided by a row of ushers from the airport. 

"Your Highness," each one of them said, bowing deeply to T'Challa as he swept by, flanked on both sides by Erik and Shuri. 

T'Challa and Shuri were completely unfazed by this red-carpet treatment, but Erik got a real kick out of it. It wasn't every day that a row of people lined up to kiss his ass. 

He tried not to smirk too obviously as they made their way towards the black limousine waiting on the tarmac. 

The limousine ride to the Ritz-Carlton was over much too soon. Sadly, Erik wasn't able to fully enjoy the luxurious interior, the onboard LCD TV and minibar before they reached their destination. 

T'Challa watched all of Erik's antics with a tolerantly amused smile. 

Eventually, their limousine finally turned into their hotel.

"I'll be sharing a room with Erik, if you don't mind," T'Challa told Shuri as they got out of the car. "I've booked you a suite of your own." 

"Sure," Shuri said, with a small shrug. She gave Erik a wink once T'Challa had turned his back on them, and Erik felt his face heat up. 

As they entered the opulent marble lobby of the hotel, Erik tried not to look too visibly impressed. But it took a real ffort to feign nonchalance in the face of such luxury. The marble floors were polished to a gleaming sheen, and the entirety of the high ceiling overhead was adorned with an intricately painted fresco. A large jewelled chandelier hung from the centre of the lobby, its gems sparkling white and gold under the light. 

"I have a reservation under T'Challa Udaku. I'll be sharing the presidential suite with my husband," T'Challa informed the hotel concierge. 

_Husband_. The word made Erik's heart skip a beat. 

Even though he had been married to T'Challa for almost a fortnight, nobody else in Wakanda ever referred to Erik in this manner - to them, he was only "Concubine Erik", just one out of T'Challa's many concubines, and the lowest-ranking one at that. Erik knew that T'Challa had only introduced him as his husband because he wanted to avoid the potential awkwardness that would result if he mentioned that Erik was his concubine, but nevertheless, he briefly allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of being T'Challa's one and only. 

The rest of the check-in went extremely smoothly. When they finally reached their suite, Erik's jaw actually dropped upon taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows facing out towards the garden, the tasteful marble and hardwood fixtures, the long semi-curved sofa arranged in a half-ring around the giant LED television set. 

"Fuck," Erik breathed, laughing as he flopped onto the king-sized bed, flinging his arms outwards. He didn't even pause to take his shoes off first. The silk-cotton weave sheets rubbed pleasantly against his skin.

Erik propped himself up on his elbows so that he was facing T'Challa. "Damn, T'Challa, this room is awesome! Wakanda ain't got shit like this. That TV out there? This bed? Our vibranium sheets, yeah it's nice and all but it ain't silky smooth, you know? You gotta try..." 

Erik's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the predatory gleam in T'Challa's eyes. T'Challa unashamedly let his eyes roam over Erik's body, tracing the firm lines of Erik's muscles as he laid spread out across the bed. 

"Perhaps your room in the harem isn't this luxurious," T'Challa said silkily, as he prowled towards the bed, "You should come to my chambers more often."

Erik sat up quickly, his eyes widening. T'Challa was standing right in front of him now, and his eyes were dark with intent. With a single finger, T'Challa tilted Erik's chin up so that their eyes met. T'Challa brushed his thumb once, briefly, over Erik's lips.

Erik swallowed, his mouth dry. Unconsciously, he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. T'Challa's eyes traced its motion, his eyes darkening with desire.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," T'Challa said quietly, stroking Erik's cheek with his thumb.

"No," Erik whispered, his heart pounding fast. "Don't stop."

T'Challa lowered his head, capturing Erik's lips in a breathtaking kiss.

It was nothing like the fumbling kisses that Erik had shared with the girls in his youth. T'Challa's lips were warm and insistent against his own, and as he pushed Erik back down against the bed, Erik could feel the hardness of T'Challa's erection pressing against his hip, making him gasp. T'Challa took advantage of the momentary parting of Erik's lips to slip his tongue in Erik's mouth, entwining it against Erik's.

It was the most intense kiss of Erik's life.

Eventually, T'Challa finally let Erik up for air. He gripped the hem of Erik's shirt, tugging it over his head. Once Erik was topless, he closed his mouth over Erik's nipple, flicking his clever tongue against the soft brown bud. 

"Ah!" Erik squirmed under the feather-light licks as T'Challa lavished attention on first one nipple, then the other. His hands, which had wound themselves into T'Challa's curls, tightened and tugged convulsively, before Erik remembered himself and let go. 

"It's fine, Erik. Don't hold back," T'Challa murmured. 

T'Challa's hands paused on the fastenings of Erik's pants. He glanced up at Erik, checking for his reaction. 

Erik nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head. His hands were shaking with nerves, but he was also so aroused that he was almost breathless, watching T'Challa undo the fastenings of his pants. 

Erik raised his hips to help T'Challa could slide his pants and underwear off. His cock sprung free, hard and already slick at the tip with precum. 

With a wicked smile, T'Challa spread Erik's thighs with his hands, then closed his mouth over Erik's cock. 

Erik cried out at the sudden wet heat, feeling his toes curl into the sheets. He twisted the sheets tightly between his fingers, squirming and biting back choked-off gasps with each lick from T'Challa's expert tongue, as T'Challa's head bobbed up and down on his cock. The practiced manner that T'Challa sucked and swallowed around his cock made Erik wonder just how many times T'Challa had done this before, and he couldn't help the hot spike of jealousy that flared suddenly within him. 

Erik's hips thrust shallowly upwards, causing his cock to hit the back of T'Challa's throat. T'Challa didn't flinch or pull back - seemingly unbothered, he continued to swallow, practically deepthroating Erik now. The hot wet suction around his cock, coupled with T'Challa's fingers brushing against the soft skin of his bare inner thigh, teasing against his balls, was enough to drive Erik wild. His moans were becoming increasingly high-pitched and uncontrolled, and he could feel the familiar tightening in his balls as his orgasm built.

"T'Challa, I'm gonna cum," Erik gasped, tugging lightly on T'Challa's hair.

"Mmmm," T'Challa hummed around Erik's cock, deliberately giving it another long, hard suck.

"Ah!" That final suck brought Erik over the edge. He stiffened as his cock jerked, cum spurting into T'Challa's mouth. T'Challa swallowed twice before pulling off, wiping the traces of cum and saliva gathered around his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Erik slumped back bonelessly against the bed, letting his head fall back. He felt pleasantly relaxed and loose-limbed now, and he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the bed and sleep, especially after that sixteen-hour flight. But - 

"What about you?" Erik asked uncertainly, sitting up to look at T'Challa.

T'Challa sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at Erik seriously. "Do you want me to fuck you?" 

T'Challa let his fingers play across Erik's chest, trailing down towards Erik's lower abdomen, his groin.

Erik flushed, squirming a little under the light touch. "Yeah. Been waiting for weeks," he admitted. "But you never called for me, and I couldn't exactly walk up and demand to see the King - " 

T'Challa laughed. He dragged a pillow close, sliding it under Erik's hips. He drew out a small packet of lube and tore it open, slicking up his fingers. As Erik spread his legs, T'Challa stroked down Erik's cock until he was lightly teasing at the rim of Erik's hole, spreading the mess of lube, saliva and Erik's own cum around. 

Erik shivered at the touch, a shudder running through his entire body.

"Have you ever touched yourself down here?" T'Challa asked, his voice slightly husky.

Wordlessly, Erik shook his head. He hadn't dared to risk it - he didn't know exactly how far the prohibition against sex went. All he knew was that he was supposed to remain a virgin if he wanted to become the king's concubine. Because of this, he had never tried putting anything into himself, not even a finger. Watching porn - and now, that single blowjob -- was basically all the experience that Erik had when it came to sex. 

"I'll go slow," T'Challa murmured. "Spread your legs more. Let me know if it hurts, or if you want me to stop."

Erik bit his lip as T'Challa slowly worked one lubed finger into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. It didn't hurt, not exactly, but the feeling of being penetrated was wholly unfamiliar. Erik clenched tightly around the intrusion, fighting down the automatic urge to  squirm and jerk his hips away. 

"Relax, Erik," T'Challa said soothingly.

"'M trying," Erik gasped, his eyes squeezed shut. 

T'Challa leaned over to give him a deep, lingering kiss as his fingers worked Erik apart. Erik could taste the traces of his own salty cum on T'Challa's tongue. It was surprisingly filthy, but also extremely hot.

"Oh fuck!" Erik cried suddenly, his voice wrecked as he convulsed with shudders as T'Challa pressed against a small bundle of nerves within him that made his entire body light up. T'Challa grinned and continued to rub against his prostate in slow, smooth and practiced circles. "Ah! Ah, fuck - fuck, T'Challa -"

Each gentle press of T'Challa's fingers against his prostate sent jolts of mind-numbing pleasure through Erik's body. He twisted against the sheets, hips helplessly bucking upwards with each excruciatingly pleasurable jab of T'Challa's fingers. Tears were beginning to burn in the corners of his eyes. His cock was hardening again, but T'Challa batted his hand away as Erik reached down to stroke yourself.

"Not yet - don't touch yourself," T'Challa said. "Your first time will go easier if you're aroused. Come on, spread your legs. I think you're ready now."

Erik eagerly spread his legs further apart, bending them at the knee. T'Challa crouched between his spread thighs, lining up his cock at Erik's entrance.

Erik gasped as T'Challa pushed slowly into him. Even with all the prep, he could still feel the burn as T'Challa slid into him. He panted as he tried to get used to the stretch, clenching down tightly around T'Challa's cock. T'Challa finally bottomed out in him until his balls were pressed flush against Erik's ass. 

"You're so tight," T'Challa breathed, capturing Erik's lips in another kiss. He began to thrust shallowly into Erik, causing Erik to cry out with each slap of T'Challa's hips against his skin, each stroke of his cock. Erik desperately tried to relax despite the unaccustomed burn, as his tight hole tried to stretch to accommodate T'Challa's thick cock. His fingernails scraped across the skin on T'Challa's back, digging in shallowly with each thrust. Waves of pain and pleasure spiked through him with each snap of T'Challa's hips. 

T'Challa leaned down to kiss him again, this time sloppy and careless. He was breathing hard. "All right, Erik?"

"Yeah," Erik moaned. The pain was beginning to fade as he adjusted to the stretch, and the rubbing of his cock, trapped between their bodies, resulted in very pleasurable friction with each thrust. Experimentally, Erik rolled his hips to take T'Challa deeper into him, making T'Challa groan. "'M fine. Go harder."

T'Challa wrapped an arm around Erik, steadying him as he began to pick up the pace. Erik gripped tightly onto T'Challa's shoulders, keening with each thrust. His keens turned to cries as T'Challa's cock began to drag against his prostate. He could feel his orgasm approaching again, with each hard thrust into his pliant body.

Erik cried out as his cock jerked, spurting cum from between their bodies. His hole clenched tightly around T'Challa's cock. Above him, T'Challa grunted once and stilled, and Erik could feel warm, wet heat spreading through him.

Panting, Erik reached up to cup T'Challa's face with a trembling hand, and T'Challa leaned down to bring their lips together, soft and gentle. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay in posting this chapter! AS ALWAYS I swear I haven't abandoned this fic (I think this is like...the third time I've said this, lmao.) 
> 
> I've just been veeeeery slow in updating because I've started writing a new reylo WIP... but I'm gonna wrap this fic up, I swear. Sorry for the delay! If you're still reading this, thank you :) I love and appreciate each one of you!


	7. Chapter 7

   

Erik woke up the next morning to the feeling of a warm hand tracing slow circles on his bare chest.

He stretch, blinking his sleep-drowsy eyes open. Beside him, T'Challa was seated with his back against the headboard, reading through a thick stack of documents while petting Erik absentmindedly with one hand. He looked to Erik when Erik stirred. 

"Good morning, love," T'Challa said, leaning over to give Erik a kiss on the cheek. "I thought I'd let you sleep in, since we stayed up so late last night."

Erik felt his face heat up at the memory of last night. After that first time, T'Challa had fucked him again in the shower, bent over the bathtub with one foot on the edge. The new angle had allowed T'Challa to thrust even deeper into him. There had been no tender lovemaking this time, with T'Challa pounding into him mercilessly as Erik whimpered. Afterwards, T'Challa had been sweet and gentle as he cleaned Erik up, but Erik had still been so exhausted that he'd passed out immediately as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"What time is it now?" Erik asked, sitting up. He winced. Shifting his weight made him realize how sore he was.

Thankfully, T'Challa hadn't noticed that small flinch - his eyes were on the digital clock beside their bed. "It's eleven in the morning."

"Shit! We've missed breakfast," Erik said, dismayed.

"It's fine. You can order whatever you want from room service," T'Challa said. "Shuri already left to explore the city. Where do you want to go later?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't really know this area well."

T'Challa consulted the readout from his kimoyo bracelet. "Shuri told me that there's a war memorial nearby, a shopping mall, Chinatown, a couple of museums and galleries - an art gallery, the African History Museum..."

Erik perked up. "How about the African History Museum? Let's go there."

"Oh, I didn't know that you were interested in history," T'Challa said with a smile. "You really are full of surprises. We can go there after you've had breakfast. I'll complete my review of this Council report while you're eating."

 

* * *

 

The African History Museum was currently hosting an exhibit on West African artifacts. Colourful banners fluttering on the building's facade announced the showcase of a privately owned collection of unusual artifacts that had never before been exhibited in public. 

Excitement bubbled within Erik as T'Challa they made their way towards the exhibition hall. Erik had always been interested in learning about Wakanda in particular, as well as African history generally - it was a way for him to connect with his roots.  He had never really had the opportunity to do so back when he was living in Oakland, and even after he had moved to Boston to study at MIT, he was usually too busy with his studies to visit any museums. 

But now, Erik was being accompanied by his husband to see a display of historical treasures. T'Challa's hand was warm and steady on the small of his back, and he would occasionally lean in close to Erik to make small comments, or to brush his lips against Erik's cheek. Erik was delighted - he couldn't think of a better way to spend the day off.

However, the moment that Erik and T'Challa stepped into the exhibition hall, T'Challa stiffened. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Erik asked T'Challa, picking up on his tension.

T'Challa frowned, tapping his Panther necklace. "The sensors on the suit are picking up some unusual readings."

"Unusual as in..." Erik prompted.

"It's signalling that there's a vibranium object close by," T'Challa said. He frowned in the direction of the artifacts on display. 

Erik gestured at the various African masks and weapons around them. "You mean one of these artifacts is from Wakanda?"

T'Challa looked thoughtful. "It's possible. Let's go take a look around. Don't react, just act casual."

Erik and T'Challa moved purposefully towards the nearest exhibit, a glass case filled with masks - wooden masks, clay masks, horned masks and furred masks. Erik paused before the case, momentarily captivated by a large, fearsome-looking mask with double horns, before he remembered what they were supposed to be looking for. 

He glanced askance at T'Challa, but T'Challa shook his head. "It's not here."

They moved on to the next display, a selection of weapons - axes, spears and throwing knives. Each weapon was labelled with the weapon's origin and its estimated date of production.

"Here. It's this one," T'Challa said quietly to Erik, pausing before an axe labelled ' _Forged Iron Axe, Fula Tribe - Benin (7th Century AD)_ '. 

The axe looked completely ordinary to Erik. Its head and the handle were made of rusting metal, and it looked nothing like the gleaming vibranium weapons carried by the Dora Milaje carry back in Wakanda. 

Erik frowned doubtfully at the axe. "You sure? This is made of vibranium?" 

"Yes. It looks like it's been coated with iron at some point in its history. Over time, its origins were probably forgotten, and it eventually ended up in this private collection."

"So what are we gonna do? Steal it back?" Erik asked. 

T'Challa's eyebrows went up. "Steal it back?"

Erik swept a hand in the direction of "How d'you think that rich guy got all these stuff? You think his ancestors paid a fair price? Or did they just take what they wanted, like they took everything else?" Passion coloured Erik's voice as he looked around them at the priceless artifacts on display, certain in the knowledge that each one of them had been looted from its rightful home. 

But T'Challa was already shaking his head. "Erik, I will not hold the collector responsible for the sins of his ancestors. I can simply offer to buy the axe back."

"Why the hell should we pay for something that was stolen from us - "

"Maintenance," a voice interrupted from behind them. "Out of the way."

Erik turned around to see a man dressed in a reflective vest, with a drill in his hand and a hard hat on his head. He looked to be in his fifties. Behind him stood several other burly men, similarly attired. The man in the lead waved his drill at Erik. 

"Now? In the middle of the day? During the exhibition?" Erik asked, frowning at the men suspiciously. 

T'Challa shushed Erik with a gesture. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please excuse us," T'Challa said. His words were polite, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his voice. T'Challa's grip on Erik's upper arm tightened. 

"This doesn't feel right," Erik complained to T'Challa under his breath, as he was steered away towards a selection of pottery. "I think they know what it is." 

Behind them, the men had begun their work, drilling through the nails holding the glass display case together. 

T'Challa beckoned for Erik to bend closer to him, as they both pretended to read the display together. 

"I recognize that man," T'Challa whispered grimly to Erik. "His name is Ulysses Klaue. He's a South African mercenary who is active in our region. A thief and a murderer. Twenty years ago, he stole a shipment of vibranium from us. We've been hunting him ever since, but he has always managed to slip through our grasp."

"What are you going to do?" Erik asked him quietly. 

T'Challa glanced around. The exhibition hall was mostly deserted, but there was another couple at the far end of the hall. 

"I'm not going to start a fight with civilians here," T'Challa said. "Now that we know he's in the vicinity, we can track him from the ship and retrieve it later."

Erik couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're just going to let them walk out with the axe?" 

"Yes. Be patient. We already know where he is. We can track him without putting others in danger," T'Challa said. 

"But -" 

T'Challa cut him off. "That's enough, Erik. Don't be reckless. I've already made up my mind," he said. There was a warning edge in T'Challa's voice.

Erik swallowed. "Yes,  _Your Highness_ ," he said, trying and failing to keep the bite of anger out of his voice. 

" _Enough_ , Erik," T'Challa said coolly. "I thought you've already learned not to question my decisions? We will discuss your attitude back in Wakanda." 

_Fuck_. 

Erik's felt his heart sink. W'Kabi's words echoed in his head: 

_T'Challa isn't just your lover. He's not just your friend._

_He's your king._

_You need to be very, very careful. Never disobey him again._

But he had thought - 

Biting his lip, Erik half-turned his body away from T'Challa, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He balled his hands into fists as he glared at the men in undisguised fury over T'Challa's shoulder.

The men had already finished removing the glass cover from the display case. Ulysses Klaue was now lifting the axe off its display stand.

Their eyes met.

Erik felt a jolt of fear as a deranged grin spread slowly over the mercenary's face, his eyes lingering on Erik's. 

"Kill the witnesses," Klaue ordered.

Erik froze, stunned, as gunshots began ringing out throughout the gallery. The couple at the far end of the hall collapsed in a pool of blood, unable to even scream before they were mercilessly gunned down. 

T'Challa was already turning around, suit extending over his skin from the Black Panther necklace, when the men turned away from the couple to point their guns at Erik and T'Challa.

Horror swept through Erik as the man closest to them tightened his finger on the trigger. 

_Fuck!_

Instinctively, he stepped in front of T'Challa as the spray of bullets hit.

Erik gasped at the impact of the blast to the centre of his torso. There was no pain, but his breath felt like it had been punched out of his lungs.

He staggered backwards, hand coming up to brush at his chest. His fingers came away, wet with dark red blood.

All the energy seemed to go out of his body. He slumped back against T'Challa, his vision narrowing, the world becoming dark and cold.

It was becoming harder and harder to draw each laboured breath.

Distantly, he could feel T'Challa's strong arms around him, supporting his weight. "Erik! Erik, hold on."

Erik gasped weakly. He felt as if there was a huge weight on his chest, crushing his lungs. He couldn't breathe. 

"You're going to pay for this," T'Challa snarled in fury, his voice distorted by the Black Panther suit. 

With a last Herculean effort, Erik struggled to keep his eyes open.

A blur of black, tangling with further blurs in the distance.

Screams. 

Silence.

Darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juggling two fics really slows down my pace :(
> 
> But this story is gonna wrap up soon! We’re coming into the final arc now. YAY.

 

Erik blinked his eyes open.

Fuzziness momentarily swam over his vision. Blinking once again to clear his sight, he found himself staring up at stark white ceiling tiles, lit with bright fluorescent lights.

"Ow," Erik complained, wincing in pain at the flare of bright light. He tried to sit up, but there was a strange, heavy pressure on his chest.

“Shhh. Don’t move,” someone murmured from beside him. A hand stroked gently at his forehead.

Erik turned his head in the direction of the voice. He saw T’Challa sitting beside the bed, a look of concern on his face.

Erik's heart leapt. “T’Challa?”

His mouth was extremely dry, his voice coming out in only a cracked whisper. Speaking sent short, stabbing pains through his chest.

“Yes, my love. I’m here.”

“What happened? I remember...”

A spray of bullets. Blood. Pain.

“Klaue’s men shot you. I killed him.” T’Challa’s voice was dark and cold.

“You _killed_ Klaue?”

“Broke his neck. And I killed every last one of his men, too,” T’Challa continued grimly. “Your government is not very happy with me. I've sparked something of a diplomatic incident.”

Erik was speechless. He had intuited, on some level, that T’Challa did not exactly have a problem with killing, but it was another thing to have his suspicions proven entirely correct. T’Challa didn’t sound the least bit sorry about having killed Klaue and his men.

“And the vibranium?” Erik asked, suddenly recalling what had started all this in the first place.

“It's been secured. Don’t worry about it,” T’Challa said. He sighed. “Erik, darling, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

T’Challa’s voice softened. “Tried to save me.”

He stroked Erik’s forehead again, gently, then let his fingers trail down to Erik’s cheek. Erik closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. For some reason, it seemed to make the pain less sharp.

T’Challa continued, “My suit is bulletproof. I have enhanced strength, reflexes and enhanced healing. Even if the bullets had hit me, I would have been fine. You, on the other hand…”

It was true. Now that T’Challa had pointed it out, Erik felt very silly. He couldn’t explain away his initial impulse, just -

“I know,” Erik muttered. “You’re right. I just, I dunno. I wasn't really thinking. It was just…some sort of instinct.”

T'Challa kissed him.

Erik froze in surprise, then sighed at the feeling of T'Challa's lips pressed tenderly against his, letting himself melt into the kiss. T'Challa cupped Erik's face in his hands, caressing him and deepening the kiss for a moment, before pulling away.

 _“Never_ do that again,” he said sternly to Erik.

Erik managed a small, weak smile. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“I mean it,” T'Challa said warningly. “I know you don't always listen to me -”

At that, Erik couldn't help but choke out a short, pained laugh.

T'Challa paused, looking concerned, but Erik motioned for him to continue.

“- I know you don't always listen to me, and I no longer expect you to be a perfectly obedient concubine.” T'Challa smiled, looking fondly exasperated. “But I really am going to insist on this, Erik. Don't put yourself in danger again on my behalf.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Erik mumbled. “Really, I got it. I'm not looking to get shot again anytime soon. Fucking hurts."

“Poor thing,“ T'Challa murmured, patting his hand. “Just bear with it for a while longer. We can heal you immediately back in Wakanda, but the American government isn't letting us leave yet. They're not very happy about the deaths of Klaue and his underlings, and diplomatic immunity can only go so far. I'm working on it, but I'm afraid you'll have to stay here for at least another day.”

“It’s fine,” Erik said.

“Rest now, darling,” T'Challa murmured, tenderly stroking his forehead.

Erik was beginning to feel drowsy. He relaxed back into the bed, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

T'Challa took his hand in his own, intertwining their fingers together as he drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

  
They were back on the plane to Wakanda the next day.

“I pulled some strings with S.H.I.E.L.D,” T’Challa said to Erik, by way of explanation. “Let’s get out of here quickly, before the Americans change their minds.”

Shuri gasped in horror when Erik’s gurney was wheeled onto their private plane. “An IV drip? You let those primitives put an _IV drip_ in Erik?”

“I couldn’t think of a good explanation to stop them!” T’Challa said defensively. “They even wanted to cut him open to extract the bullets, but I told them we could perform the surgery back in Wakanda. It was difficult enough to insist that they back off.”

“Out of the way,” Shuri demanded, pushing T’Challa aside. She peeled back the plaster gauze covering Erik's injury, then removed a bead from her kimoyo bracelet, inserting it into the open wound.

Erik hissed in pain as the bead came into contact with the wound, then blinked in surprise as little tendrils of silvery-blue light begin to spread from the bead, sinking into his skin. The dull, throbbing pain in his chest which had been constantly in the background for the past day suddenly disappeared.

“Damn,” Erik said, impressed. “How’d that work?”

He tried to sit up, but Shuri nudged him to lie back down again. “I’ve only stabilized the wound. You aren’t healed yet. I still need to fix you up properly when we get back to my lab. If T’Challa had _done his job_ taking care of you -”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Erik protested. “They just attacked us out of the blue.”

“No, Shuri’s right,” T’Challa admitted, looking guilty. “I should never have let this happen. If I had reacted more quickly at the museum... if I’d taken your concerns more seriously in the first place... none of this would have happened. I’m so sorry, Erik. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

 

* * *

 

“T’Challa did _what_?” W’Kabi said to Erik.

A week had passed since Erik and T’Challa’s eventful trip to America. Erik’s wounds had been healed without a trace, thanks to the marvels of Wakandan medical technology. He was now in the Border Tribe territory, catching up with W’Kabi, his fellow co-conspirator.

“Issued an edict to promote me from Concubine to Imperial Consort, moved me into the largest palace in the harem, and gave me a ton of gifts,” Erik said, trying - and failing - not to sound too smug. “And he said that I could visit Shuri as much as I wanted - he’ll deal with any fallout from Ramonda. _And_ he’s called me to his chambers every night for the past week. The other girls are all really jealous.”

“Well done, Erik,” W’Kabi said, looking extremely pleased. “To be honest, given your rocky start, I didn’t expect you to make this much progress so soon.”

“Yeah, well, I only had to get shot for all this to happen,” Erik said ruefully, tapping at his chest.

W’Kabi looked like he wanted to say something along the lines of “ _I’m sure it was worth it_ ,” but the warning look on Erik’s face made him keep his mouth shut.

“I think I’m gonna tell T’Challa the truth soon,” Erik said thoughtfully.

“Yes, I agree,” W’Kabi said. “You’re in his favour now. It’s best that you do it as soon as possible, before he loses interest in you. The festival of Bast is coming up -”

Erik inhaled sharply.

“What?” W’Kabi said.

“...It's nothing,” Erik muttered, looking at the floor.

“As I was saying,” W’Kabi continued, with a sidelong glance at Erik, “The festival of Bast is coming up next week. I think that would be the safest time for you to tell T'Challa the truth, show him your evidence, and ask him to reopen the investigation into Prince N'Jobu’s death. He might be angry at you for concealing the truth from him for so long, but he’s not going to execute anyone on a holy day. You’ll be safest then.”  

“Fine,” Erik said, only half-listening. His mind was still stuck on the words _“before he loses interest in you.”_

Erik swallowed. With an effort, he shoved that unsettlimg thought to the back of his mind. “All right. Fine. Good idea. I'm going to tell T'Challa everything next week.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

“That's enough,” T'Challa said tiredly. “You've made your views on this very clear, Mother.”

“If you would just _listen_ to me -”

“I have been listening to you, Mother,” T'Challa said, trying not to let his exasperation show through. “That does not necessarily mean that I need to agree with you.”

As T’Challa had expected, his mother had not taken well to his decision to promote Erik. It had sparked off a long, heated rant on the evils of outsiders, suckups who had the temerity to get too close to her precious children, and _sluts_ who seduced kings and ruined their legacies.

T’Challa gritted his teeth and fought back the urge to roll his eyes or snap back at her. At the end of the day, Ramonda was still the Queen Mother, and he could not be too openly disrespectful. He had to let her vent until she ran out of steam - hopefully, sometime soon. She had already been going at it for hours.

“That man is a foreigner. An outsider. An _American!”_ Ramonda's mouth twisted in disgust. “To elevate his status like this, over your own people…For all you know, he might be a foreign operative. This could all be a plot to get close to the throne. First he succeeds in getting close to Shuri, and now you. Within a month, he managed to get both of you wrapped around his fingers. It’s very suspicious.”

T’Challa blinked. “Don’t you think that you're being a bit paranoid?”

“It’s obvious, if you just opened your eyes!” Ramonda snapped. “He’s a cunning, ambitious snake! Let me question your consort. I’ll get the truth out of him.”

“No,” T’Challa said immediately, his protective instincts flaring up. He was extremely familiar with the extreme methods of “questioning” that his parents used back when his father was the reigning king.

“You may have faith in his loyalty, but _I_ do not,” Ramonda said coldly. “Need I remind you that as Queen Mother, _I_ am in charge of enforcing discipline in the harem? I demand that you submit him to me for questioning. If he has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear.”

T’Challa frowned. “Regardless, _I_ am still the king. I trust Erik. I’m sure he isn’t some sort of undercover CIA agent - he’s only nineteen! And he's already gone through our background checks before I accepted him into the harem. Ever since then, he’s proven himself to me. Have you forgotten how he tried to save my life?”

“That could just have been a setup,” Ramonda said.

“It was Shuri’s suggestion to go to the museum, not Erik’s. We had no idea that Klaue and his men were going to be there. How could Erik have arranged all that? He didn’t even know who Klaue was.”

“You’re being wilfully blind!” Ramonda shouted. “You’ll be the ruin of Wakanda!”

“That's enough!” T'Challa snapped, an edge of anger seeping through into his voice. Listening to his mother vent was one thing, but he would not stand for borderline treason. “I will not hear another word against Erik. This discussion is over.”

“You’ll see,” Ramonda said darkly. “He’ll show his true colours soon.”

With that last word, she stormed out of the throne room, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind her.

T’Challa sighed and sank down against the throne, rubbing his temples in an effort to get rid of his headache. He glanced at Okoye on his left, who raised an eyebrow back at him.

“Increase the number of guards on Erik,” T’Challa ordered. He had a feeling that his mother was going to try some of her tricks. “They are not to take orders from anyone else except myself. And make sure that none of the guards are loyal to the Queen Mother.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Okoye said.

“On second thought… please call Erik in.” T'Challa said. Erik would be safest with him for the moment.

 

* * *

 

T'Challa's mood lifted immediately when he saw Erik enter the throne room.

He signalled for his guards to leave. The moment they had exited, Erik, as per his usual habit, immediately walked up to the throne, settling himself onto T’Challa’s lap. T’Challa wound his arms around Erik’s waist, steadying him.

“Long day?” Erik murmured, nuzzling into T’Challa’s neck.

“It’s my mother again,” T’Challa sighed. “She’s still unhappy about you. She thinks that I favour you too much.”

“I don’t even know why you bother to entertain that bitch,” Erik grumbled. “Just tell her to fuck off.”

“Erik,” T’Challa scolded. “Don’t be rude. She’s my mother.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta just stand there and take it when she starts carrying on like that,” Erik said, shrugging. “What’s she complaining about this time round?”

“The same things as before. That you’re just an American slut -”

“Yeah, that part’s right,” Erik said with a smirk. He deliberately shimmied his hips so that his ass was grinding down against T’Challa’s very interested cock.

T’Challa snorted. He continued, “She also says that you’ve cooked up some sort of deranged plot to get close to the throne -”

Erik stiffened in his arms.

T’Challa broke off, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah...nothing,” Erik muttered. There was a strange tension in his voice.

“Don't worry about my mother,” T'Challa assured Erik, stroking his back. “I’m used to it. I can handle her.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s forget about all that,” Erik said hurriedly. “C’mon, take off your pants. We gonna fuck now or what?”

 

* * *

 

Seething, Queen Mother Ramonda sat down heavily on the sofa, kicking her shoes off irritably. One golden-heeled sandal flopped to the ground beneath her feet, while the other sailed off towards the far wall, narrowly missing one of her own Queensguard.

The Queensguards, who had grown quite used to Ramonda’s temper tantrums by now, did not even bat an eyelid at this, nor did they look fazed by the murderous expression of rage on the Queen Mother’s face.

Ramonda ground her teeth together, clenching her hands so tightly that her fingernails digging sharp crescents into the soft skin on her palms.

Her son had never been this stubborn and defiant before. Why couldn’t T’Challa see the danger that this new concubine, this _snake_ posed? Why couldn’t her son understand that she only had his best interests in mind?

Thoughts of vengeance filled her mind. “Bring Erik to me,” she demanded.

Her son would undoubtedly be furious with her when he found out what she had done, but he would come around once she had obtained solid proof of Erik’s plots. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. Once the truth was revealed, her suspicions and her methods would have been proven to be completely justified.

The members of the Queensguard exchanged wary glances with each other. “Your Highness, Erik is serving the king right now,” General Ayesha, the leader of the Queensguard, reported.

That whore was consorting with her precious son again! Ramonda ground her teeth together in rage.

“Then bring him to me the minute that he leaves the throne room,” Ramonda snapped. “Assign a contingent of guards to arrest him immediately!”

“That would not be possible, Queen Mother,” Ayesha said hesitantly, an expression of consternation on her face. “King T’Challa has just given orders that his new consort is not to leave his side.”

Ramonda could have screamed out loud in frustration. How could she exact her vengeance if Erik was so well protected? How could she get her hands on Erik if he was constantly together with T’Challa?

_Ahhh - but if Erik was constantly in T’Challa’s company…_

“Ayesha. You said that Erik will be staying together with T’Challa. For how long?”

“The king didn’t specify, Your Highness,” Ayesha replied.

Ramonda’s mind whirred. The corners of her lips pulled up in a slow, calculating smile.

“Take three guards with you and go directly to Erik’s chambers. _M_ ake sure that you aren’t seen by anyone. Search his room as thoroughly as you can. Seize anything suspicious that you find, especially electronic devices - he must have left some evidence of his plots.”

And if it turned out that no evidence could be found?

...Well, she could always fabricate something. Just like how she had managed to take down Prince N’Jobu all those years ago.

Ayesha hesitated. “The king said - ”

 _“I_ am the Queen Mother, and in charge of maintaining order in the Inner Palace,” Ramonda said coldly. “Erik's chambers are in the Inner Palace, within _my_ domain! Now do as I say! Go!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Ayesha said, turning to leave.

And now, the waiting.

Too strung with nerves to sit still, Ramonda began pacing up and down the length of the room. Her bare soles slapped loudly against the polished floor with each stamp of her feet.

Given the abysmal track record of her servants, Ramonda fully expected Ayesha and her gang of useless incompetents to come back at least half a day later, empty-handed and with nothing to report. But much to her surprise and delight, in less than an hour, Ayesha hurried into her room, flanked on both sides by two lower-ranking members of the Queensguard. There was a small, uncharacteristic smile of triumph on the normally inscrutable General’s face.

“Well?” Ramonda demanded.

“We found this, Your Highness,” Ayesha said, a note of barely suppressed excitement in her voice. She extended her hand towards Ramonda. In the centre of her palm was a shiny silver ring, wound through with streaks of vibranium that glinted with cold fiery light.

Ramonda inhaled sharply. That was -

“The royal ring! How did that whore get it? He must have stolen it from T’Challa!” A stab of vindictive glee blossomed in her chest as her fingers tightened around the priceless artifact.

 _Finally!_ She had found dirt on Erik at last.

“We found the ring hidden in a large book in his room, together with this letter.”

“Give that to me!” Without waiting for a response, Ramonda snatched the folded letter out of Ayesha’s hands.

Her blood ran cold as she took in the contents of the letter. The letter which Prince N’Jobu had written to his family before he died, explaining, in excruciating detail, his suspicions that T’Chaka and his new wife were conspiring against him.

Ramonda’s eyes widened in horror. There was a real possibility that her plot against Prince N’Jobu would be revealed. If Erik had informed T’Challa -

No. He couldn’t have done that yet. T’Challa wasn’t such a good actor - her son was clearly still unaware of the decades-old conspiracy.

She needed to act fast, to keep it that way.

“Did you read this letter?” she demanded, turning to Ayesha.

“No, Your Highness. But I thought that it could be suspicious, since it was carefully hidden away with the ring -”

“It has nothing of importance in it,” Ramonda sneered. “A silly letter to some childhood sweetheart, nothing more. Kept out of sentiment. Worthless!”

Ramonda made a show of ripping the letter up into pieces, then marched to the blazing fireplace at the far end of the room, dropping the torn pages into the fire. She watched with savage glee as the torn shreds of paper went up in flames.

Now that all obstacles had been cleared away, the path to victory was clear.

“Take this ring to King T’Challa. Inform my son that I want to speak to him at once.”


	10. Chapter 10

There was a knock on the door. 

T'Challa and Erik ignored it, but the rapping continued, loud and insistent. 

Erik let his breath whistle out through his teeth in annoyance. “I thought you told them we weren’t to be disturbed?”

“I did,” T’Challa said, frowning. He stood up. “It could be something important. I’ll go and see what’s the matter.”

Erik tightened his grip on T'Challa's arm. “ _Nooo._ ” He didn't try to keep the pouty note out of his voice. 

T'Challa smiled down at him, fond and amused. He leaned down and brushed his lips against Erik in a brief kiss before pulling away.

Erik sighed and leaned back on the throne, making himself comfortable as T'Challa strode across the room. He watched, slightly irritated, as the door swung open to reveal Queen Mother Ramonda, surrounded by her Queensguards.

The sight of the Queen Mother set Erik’s teeth on edge. She glared at Erik, and something about the expression on her face immediately put Erik on guard. Her eyes were glinting with rage and… glee? 

They were too far away for Erik to hear what Ramonda was saying to T’Challa, but as their conversation dragged on, Erik could see T'Challa's eyes flick towards him more and more often. T'Challa's posture was stiff, and the smile on his face had long disappeared. 

An uncomfortable feeling of tension crept over Erik. He had never seen T'Challa look so grim before. 

Erik stood up abruptly, making his way over to T'Challa and Ramonda. The conversation died down as he approached. 

“What’s going on?” Erik asked. 

T'Challa didn't say anything. He just looked back at Erik. The expression on his face was unreadable, but his eyes were dark and cold. 

“What?” Erik said uncomfortably. “What's wrong? You're looking like someone just died.”

Without taking his eyes off Erik's face, T'Challa held out his hand towards Erik. His hand was clenched into a fist. 

With a sinking heart, Erik watched, as if in slow motion, as T'Challa unclenched his fingers to reveal - 

Erik's ring. 

_N'Jobu’s_ ring - the royal ring of Azzuri, twin to the same one that shone on T'Challa's finger.

Erik's blood ran cold. 

_How -_

_Ramonda! She must have found his ring, somehow, and came straight to T’Challa with her usual lies..._

But now she had solid proof of Erik’s dishonesty. Erik’s heart sank. 

“I can explain,” he said quickly, desperately.

“What’s there to explain?” Ramonda said coldly. “This speaks for itself. This belongs to the late Prince N’Jobu - the _traitor_ Prince N’Jobu -” 

“He wasn’t a traitor!” Erik shouted. “You framed him! You set him up to die!”

The anger that Erik had been holding back in their previous interactions suddenly boiled over. He took a step towards Ramonda, fists clenched, but the rest of the Queensguards immediately barred his path, levelling their vibranium spears at him.

Erik looked down at the sharp ends of the spears, which had stopped right before the soft skin at the base of his neck. He raised a hand to grip the head of the closest spear, attempting to push it away. “You think I'm scared of -”

“Stand down, Erik,” T’Challa snapped.

The barely-controlled anger in his voice made Erik's heart sink. He turned to T'Challa and said, pleadingly, “T'Challa, I -”

 _“Stop,_ ” T'Challa cut in. “I don't want to hear any of that. Just answer my questions.”

Erik swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“This ring is yours? You know its significance?”

“Yes. It was my father's. He gave it to me.”

“Your father,” T'Challa said slowly, turning the words over in his mouth. “Prince N'Jobu was your father?”

“Yes,” Erik admitted readily. “I know what you think, but he wasn't a traitor. He was set up -”

_“Why didn't you tell me?”_

The betrayal and fury in T'Challa's eyes made the words die in Erik’s mouth. Erik’s last, lingering hopes faded away, replaced by true fear for his life.

“I was… afraid,” Erik finally whispered. “T'Challa, I swear, I was going to tell you. I would've told you. I was just… waiting for the right time.”

The look of skepticism on T’Challa’s face was soul-crushing. Desperately, Erik tried to explain himself. “I couldn’t just tell you like that, when we’d just met. You’d have executed me -”

“Do you really think so little of me, Erik?” 

T’Challa didn’t sound angry now. Just disappointed.

Erik swallowed, his throat working. He looked down at the ground, unable to meet T’Challa’s eyes. 

T’Challa continued on, relentlessly, “My mother says that you’re here for revenge. To avenge your father’s death. You came to Wakanda to get close to me. Your goal was to make me trust you, let down my guard, and then kill me, for the throne.”

“That’s a fucking lie!” Erik’s hands curled into fists. “I didn’t come here for revenge. I never wanted your throne! I swear, I never wanted to hurt you! I just want justice for my father. He was framed - set up - he never did any of the shit he was accused of, never stole your vibranium or committed treason. He just wanted to go back home to America, to be with us.” Erik's voice broke on the last sentence. “But your parents lured him here and _killed_ him!” 

“Are you just going to stand here and let him slander us?” Ramonda snarled. “My son, you -”

T'Challa held up a hand. “Enough, both of you. I need to think about this.”

“But -” Ramonda said.

“I said, _enough!”_ T’Challa’s voice rose to a roar. “Both of you be quiet!”

He began pacing the throne room, his hands balled into fists. Erik watched anxiously, his heart in his throat. At least T'Challa hadn't dismissed his story outright, but he was still clearly furious. 

After what seemed like an eternity, T’Challa turned towards Erik. 

“You know I can't just take your word for this,” T'Challa finally said. “This is a matter of national security. I'm not saying that I don't believe you, but I need to investigate your claims.”

 _“Investigate?”_ Ramonda cried. “You can’t tell me that you’re taking his nonsense seriously!”

“I can prove it,” Erik said immediately, shooting a venomous glare at Ramonda. “My father left us a letter before he died. He explained everything - how he wanted to stay in America with us, how he didn't understand why he had been called him back to Wakanda. He even said that he'd come back to us as soon as he could!”

T'Challa frowned. “What letter?”

“The letter I hid with the ring -” 

Realization struck Erik suddenly. Ramonda must have gotten rid of the incriminating letter before she came to T'Challa with her pack of lies. 

The blinding fury that came over Erik was swift and primal. He lunged at her, heedless of the vibranium spears pointed in his direction, the heavily armed guards surrounding the Queen Mother. 

“You fucking _bitch -_ that was _mine!_ My father's last words to us! You got rid of it like it was so much trash -”

Immediately, his way forward was barred by the sharp ends of numerous vibranium spears. Even T'Challa's own personal guards had moved forward to shield the Queen Mother. 

Furious, Erik looked to T'Challa for assistance, but T'Challa was shaking his head. 

“Erik, I'm not saying that I don't believe you. But without concrete evidence of your claims, I really have nothing to go on but your word.”

“That's because she destroyed my evidence!” Erik cried. Tears of futile rage burned in the corners of his eyes, but he brushed them aside. 

“Take him away,” T'Challa ordered. 

“T’Challa! Please -”

“I will look into this, Erik,” T'Challa assured him. “If I find out that what you've said is true - that your father was set up and assassinated - you have my word that I will not let it rest. In the meantime, I'm going to put you under house arrest while the investigation is being conducted. I cannot take the risk that you came here with ulterior motives.”

The Dora Milaje stepped forward. Two of them placed a hand each on Erik's upper arms, preventing any escape. 

“No, T'Challa, please -” Erik began to protest. 

T'Challa sighed. “Erik, Just go with them. Don't make this more difficult. You have my word that I'll look into your claims.”

Erik had no choice but to swallow down his anger. With a last, furious glare at Ramonda, he allowed himself to be escorted out of the throne room. 

It was clear that Erik’s room had been very thoroughly searched. The sheets had been stripped from his bed, his covers turned inside out. All the drawers and cupboards were half-opened, their contents dumped unceremoniously on the floor. 

Erik ignored all of the mess. He made a beeline for the bookshelf, stepping over the books that were lying scattered across the floor.

It wasn't there. 

The thick journal in which he'd hidden the letter, together with his father's ring, had been taken. He rifled through the rest of the books half-heartedly, but there was no sight of his letter.

Erik sighed. Morosely, he flopped down on his bed, staring up at the high, arched ceiling. 

That had _not_ gone well.

Erik had planned out a whole speech for how he was going to eventually reveal the truth to T’Challa. How he would have pleaded for justice, played on T’Challa’s sympathies, appealed to T’Challa’s sense of fairness. But Ramonda’s premature revelation had ruined all of that.

He hadn’t wanted T’Challa to find out the truth in this manner. Under a miasma of lies and suspicion, with Ramonda right beside him, whispering poison into his ear. He was fortunate that T’Challa hadn’t executed him on the spot. 

At least T’Challa had still been willing to hear him out, despite his anger. That anger wasn’t completely unexpected - Erik had known that T’Challa would be upset with him when he eventually discovered the truth. 

The disappointment, though… The memory of T’Challa’s look of betrayal made Erik flinch. Desperately, he wished that he’d worked up the courage to tell T’Challa sooner. If he’d done it the moment they’d first came back from America, when T’Challa was still so worried about him...

Erik's reverie was interrupted by the door slamming open.

Alarmed, he sat upright, only to be faced with the sight of four Queensguards, dressed in black and silver and armed to the teeth. His usual Dora Milaje guards were nowhere to be found.

“What -”

Two of them lunged forward and seized him by the arms. Taken aback by the sudden attack, Erik momentarily froze, which was just enough time for a Queensguard to slap a pair of unbreakable vibranium cuffs around his wrists, rendering any further attempts to break free futile. 

He managed to get one last, desperate shout for help, before someone hit him hard across the back of the head. 

Fiery stars exploded within Erik’s skull, followed by a swift, sudden blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm not really fond of this fic now, which is why the later chapters have been delayed so much. But since it's so close to being finished, I've decided to just grit my teeth and see it through to the end :D


	11. Chapter 11

 

“I want a confession out of him. I don't care how you do it.”

Ramonda paused to sneer at Erik before adding, “And don't make the wounds too obvious. I don't want T'Challa to get worked up on his behalf.”

That had been the Queen Mother's final orders to the interrogators before she swept out of his cell with a swish of her long, flowing cloak, leaving Erik all alone in the cold dungeon with the best of Wakanda's secret police. 

Erik's blood ran cold.  _ Wounds…?  _

That was his last conscious thought before he was knocked out again. 

* * *

 

Blood. 

Pain. 

A hand slapping against the side of his cheek, hard enough to make his ears ring, whenever he got close enough to passing out. It was as if they  _ knew _ when he was about to black out, and were determined to deny him even the brief respite of unconsciousness. 

The worst part was, they didn't even seem to want anything from him. They didn't even ask him any questions. All they did was take turns beating him mercilessly, hard enough that his ears were ringing and the iron taste of blood flooded his mouth. 

After what felt like hours, the lead interrogator said, “Stop.”

_ Thank fuck. _ Erik wasn't sure how much more of this he could have taken. Exhausted, he hung limply in his bonds. His head was spinning. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony. He didn't think that they had hit him hard enough to break any bones, but he was sure that they had left bruises that would last for weeks.

A hand gripped his chin and tilted it up forcefully, nails cruelly digging into the sides of his face. 

Erik blinked fuzzily as the man's face came into focus. The interrogator was a middle-aged Wakandan, with the beginning a of a scruffy beard and cold merciless eyes. 

Erik met his eyes and defiantly spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. 

“I'm not gonna tell you anything. I won't confess to anything I didn't do.”  

A cruel smile tugged at the corners of the man's lips. He's not ready to talk yet,” he announced. “Give it another half hour.”

At that, another man approached them, holding some sort of silvery wand in his hand. Erik automatically recoiled from the strange device, but because of his restraints, there wasn't anything he could do to avoid it. 

Erik flinched as the device came closer to his face, bracing himself to be electrocuted - or worse. But to his surprise, there was no pain. Instead, a soft glowing blue light began to emanate from the end of the wand, and where the light touched his face, he could feel his skin knitting together, the cuts mending themselves, the dull pain gradually fading away. 

So it was just some sort of innocuous healing device. Erik breathed out a sigh of relief and let his head sag forward.

Then, the full horror of its implications suddenly struck him.

With this healing device, they could potentially keep this torture going for a very, very long time, way past the human body's standard limits of endurance. Cycles upon cycles of being healed and then being hurt, torn apart and put together, again and again and again…

Horrified, Erik began to struggle against the chains binding him, but there was absolutely no give. His panicked thrashing only served to amuse his interrogators.

"Ready to talk now? " one of them sneered.

“I - I -” Erik stammered, his courage draining away. He had originally just planned to hold out for however long it took for T’Challa to rescue him, secure in the knowledge that T'Challa surely wouldn't have approved of this. But now that he was faced with potentially unlimited torture, his resolve broke. He began to thrash about desperately again, begging, "No, stop -" 

But his cries fell on deaf ears.

* * *

 

It seemed like hours had passed by. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth round of beatings, the healing device began to stop working properly. Erik's injuries were no longer healing like they had used to. The ache seemed to have sunk deep into his bones, no longer fading away with each pass of the healing device. 

“What a stubborn bastard,” the chief interrogator said, sounding grudgingly impressed as he peered into Erik's face. Erik glared back at him through a black eye.

“The Queen Mother told us not to make his injuries too obvious,” someone else said. 

The chief interrogator eyed Erik critically. “Let him down,” he said finally. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

Erik was too hurt and exhausted to feel relieved about the temporary respite. His body hit the floor with a painful thud as the restraints retracted back into the brackets. Instinctively, he curled in on himself into the fetal position, protecting himself as the thug closest to him directed a causal kick towards his ribs, before they finally made their way out of his cell. 

Erik was only too glad to see them leave.

The brief flash of satisfaction from having denied the Queen Mother's minions what they wanted quickly dissipated as Erik took stock of the full extent of his injuries. Black eye. Bruised jaw. An unknown number of overlapping injuries, inflicted, healed, and then re-inflicted. Erik shuddered, then winced at the pain brought about by even that small motion. It felt like there were bruises all over his entire body, particularly his ribs, which hurt so badly that each breath he took sent a stab of pain through his entire chest. 

Erik gritted his teeth and gently rubbed at the sorest areas, trying to dissipate the pain. It wasn't very effective.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance. 

Erik's head jerked up in alarm. Had they decided to come back for a final round of torture? He looked about his holding cell for a makeshift weapon with which to defend himself, but of course, his interrogators had been too careful to leave such objects within reach of their prisoners.

With no other option, Erik retreated to the furthest corner of his call and clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the sting from his split knuckles as he mentally braced himself for whatever came next.

But to Erik's surprise, his new visitor wasn't one of the Queen Mother's minions.

It was Shuri.

She had clearly arrived here in a rush. Her normally neat braids were tousled, her face was dark and shiny with sweat, and she was gasping as if she had just run a long distance. 

Erik’s heart leapt. “Shuri!” he exclaimed. He had never been happier to see anyone else in his life. 

Shuri, on the other hand, looked horrified to see Erik's condition. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide with distress. “Oh, Bast! What happened to you?”

“Your mother!” Erik spat out. “That  _ bitch -” _

Erik suddenly remembered that the  _ bitch  _ in question was Shuri's mother. With a great effort, he bit his lip and cut the rest of the sentence off, but Shuri didn't seem to be offended. 

“I know what she's like,” Shuri said grimly. “It's why I came here to rescue you. You wouldn't  _ believe _ how many layers of security I had to hack through to figure out where she’d been holding you… Never mind. I'll explain it all later. We need to get out of here now. T’Challa is going to execute you tomorrow!" 

Erik's mouth fell open, his blood running cold. 

Shuri was still talking, but Erik couldn't seem to focus on her words over the blankness that had swept over his mind. 

Surely T’Challa wouldn't…?

“What did you just say?” Erik demanded urgently. 

“I  _ said _ T'Challa wants to execute you tomorrow! I overheard Mother talking to him just now,” Shuri said grimly. “I was on my way to talk to him after I heard about what happened - oh, and I can't believe you didn't tell me everything! You  _ know  _ I would have helped you out! - and I was just about to enter his room when I overheard it. You need to get out of here now!”

“T'Challa wants to  _ execute _ me?” Erik whispered, feeling sick. Betrayed. 

“Yes!” Shuri cried, looking outraged. “Mother was going through all the gory details - I'm sure you don't care to hear it - and T'Challa didn't even say anything! He just sat there looking pissed! I knew I had to find you right away and get you out of here. Now come  _ on!” _

She had finally managed to get the electronic door lock open. The bars to Erik's cell retracted, sliding up into the ceiling with a quiet whisper. Under different circumstances, Erik would have marvelled at that display of Wakandan technology, but now he just stood still, as if rooted to the spot.  

“Come on! " Shuri cried. Why are you just standing there? We’ve got to go!”

“I want to talk to T'Challa," Erik said stubbornly. 

“Are you crazy? After what I just said? He wants to kill you!”  

"T’Challa wouldn't do that,” Erik said faintly. “I know him, he just  _ wouldn't... _ Ramonda must have messed with his mind. If I could just speak to him…” 

Erik’s voice trailed off.

But did he really know T’Challa at all? 

Shuri stepped into his cell, reaching out to tug at his arm. Erik winced as her hand made contact with a particularly painful bruise. 

“Never mind all that,” Shuri said urgently. “Let's just get out of here first.”

Erik let himself be dragged along behind her, his mind still in a daze. Despite the urgency of the situation, he still couldn't walk very fast. He had to lean on Shuri for support, and they had to pause more than once for him to catch his breath. It didn't help that Erik was still preoccupied with the revelation that T'Challa wasn't going to forgive him, that he had destroyed any chance they had at coming to a full understanding of each other. Erik felt sick with it. 

Shuri chattered on and on in a quiet whisper as they made their way out of the dungeons. Nerves had made her even more talkative than usual. 

“We're in one of the oldest wings of the palace," she whispered. "My father previously used this place to question his prisoners, but I've always thought that it had been abandoned for years. I’ve never come all the way down here before. Creepy, isn’t it? Ugh, can you  _ hurry up! _ Someone is going to catch us! I’ve locked everyone out of the security system, but it’s only a matter of time until someone decides to check on you and they figure out that something’s wrong.” 

Erik winced. His legs hurt. “I’m moving as fast as I can. Where are we going?" 

“To the Border. I've spoken to W’Kabi, I know he’s your friend. He's agreed to help you get out of Wakanda." 

_ Leave? _

Erik's head spun. Things were moving so quickly that he could barely keep up.

“I don't want to leave yet,” he protested. There were so many things that he still needed to say to T'Challa. T'Challa had promised to investigate Erik's claims earlier. What had made him change his mind? 

“Oh Bast, you idiot - just get out of here first! You can always patch things up with him later!” Shuri exclaimed. 

Erik had to admit that there was some logic in that. 

By now, they were almost out of the dungeons. Erik’s heart rose as they drew closer to the exit gates, to freedom. To his relief, nobody was standing guard. Erik supposed that the prison’s surveillance systems were all automated. 

He couldn’t believe that walking out of the dungeons was just going to be that easy. True enough - 

“Stop!” an angry shout came from behind them. 

Shuri spun around, cursing under her breath. “Go! Run! I'll hold him off!” 

Shuri raised her right hand. A panther-headed gauntlet formed around it, expanding outwards from a thin silver bracelet around her wrist. She fired a blue pulse of energy at their pursuer, who immediately slumped to the ground in a faint. 

“The other guards will be here any minute. Go! That way!”

Shuri took off towards at an empty patch of grass in the distance. Erik followed as best as he could, limping and gasping for breath. His heart was pounding hard as panic spiked in his chest, and each running step sent a painful jolt throughout his entire body.  

A small speeder materialized before his eyes as Shuri deactivated the cloaking technology around the transport. Erik leaned against her for balance as they staggered up the boarding ramp. 

He collapsed onto the floor of the speeder once they had both boarded, his shaking legs unable to hold him up any further. Shuri immediately made for the ship’s controls. 

In the distance, Erik could see a troop of guards running towards their speeder, but it was too late - Shuri had already retracted the speeder’s ramp. 

Erik summoned the last vestiges of his strength to sneer victoriously at them as the ship lifted off. 


End file.
